Silent Sorrow
by WillowDryad
Summary: Some griefs are too deep for words. Rated T PLUS. Very dark. Golden Age. No slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. Oreius also does not belong to me. I do, however, wish I could play in Narnia.**

Chapter One

"This way, General!" the Eagle screeched. "This way!"

The High King spurred his unicorn to my side, his eyes blue ice in his taut face. It had been only two days since word had come, but those two days had worn on him.

"Which way? What have you found?"

Greywing landed on my upraised forearm, head bowed to his Sovereign. "Just on the other side of those trees, Majesty. The party was attacked. It is difficult to say by whom."

Peter looked at me and then licked his trembling lips. "No– no survivors?"

"One, My King."

With a low cry, Peter kicked the unicorn into a gallop and disappeared into the forest.

"Wolfsbane!"

I galloped after him, calling for my men to follow. If one or two of our Sovereigns were dead, we certainly did not need to add a third.

As the Eagle had said, what was left of the party that had come from Cair Paravel was in a little clearing on the other side of the trees. Soldiers, human and Beast, lay in bloody heaps on the grass alongside a number of shabby-looking ruffians, dirty and weathered. Under a large oak lay the sole survivor, gasping for air, slathered in blood and sweat and dirt. Peter was already kneeling beside him, stroking his cheek, fumbling for the cordial he had brought from Cair Paravel.

"Where are they?" Peter pled even as he let a single blood-colored drop fall into the Horse's mouth. "Phillip, what happened?"

I signaled my men to keep watch around us, and then I went to where the High King knelt. Already the Horse's deep wounds were closing, and his breath was coming more steadily. He whickered and struggled to stand, but Peter held him where he was.

"Phillip, please. Where are they?"

I put one hand on Peter's shoulder, calming him as best I could. "Let him tell it, Majesty."

Phillip pushed himself to his feet and Peter rose with him, still with one hand in his mane, still with his eyes full of dread.

"We were attacked," the Horse said, and he hung his head, unable to look the High King in the face. "They killed our scouts and then lay in wait for the main party. There were too many for us. I tried–" Now he did look up, brown eyes pleading. "High King, I tried my best to protect them. All of the guard, you can see for yourself, did all they were able."

Peter bit his lip, but nodded curtly. "And Susan and Edmund?"

He looked around the clearing again, and I shook my head.

"Your brother and sister are not here, Majesty. They've been taken, no doubt for ransom."

The Horse shook his head. "I do not know, General Oreius. But, yes, they were taken. A man. A man they called Zeier."

Peter glanced up at me. Clearly the name was unfamiliar to him. It was not to me. I spat on the ground.

"A Calormene robber baron, Majesty. Even the Tisroc would not have him, and he was banished to Telmar. My intelligence told me he disappeared from there months ago. Some said he went into Ettinsmoor. I see that report was incorrect."

"Where did they go?" Peter demanded, turning to the Horse again. "Did they take anyone but Edmund and Susan?"

"No, Majesty. And they said nothing of where they were headed."

"How many were they?" I asked.

"About thirty, I believe," Phillip said. "Not counting Zeier and his woman. We killed seven."

My eyes narrowed. "He has a woman along?"

"He does, General. As fierce and bloodthirsty as any of their men. And jealous."

Peter's face hardened, making him look twice his sixteen years. "Leave behind a detail to bury the dead," he told me. "Send to Cair Paravel for more troops. Zeier and his men obviously went west. Greywing, see if you can catch any sign of them from the air."

The Eagle shot into the sky, and Peter leapt onto the back of his unicorn.

"Maybe you'd better go back to the Cair, too, Phillip. You need to rest for a while."

The Horse snorted. "There will be time enough for that, Majesty, when we have found your brother and sister."

"All right," Peter said after a moment. "But we can't wait for you. Either keep up or go back."

Phillip bowed his head, and then the High King turned again to me.

"Come on."

He urged his unicorn into a gallop and disappeared into the forest.

I was right behind him.

**Author's Note: Yes, it's me again. I bring to you, as usual, a grim, heart-wrenching tale full of brotherly flangst, now with extra Oreius. I hope you like it. Should I continue? Thanks to LadyAlambielKnightOfNarnia for brainstorming help and encouragement.  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. Oreius also does not belong to me. I do, however, wish I could play in Narnia.**

Chapter Two

"I will crush you, little Horse-Man."

The Giant swung his spiked club at my head, and I reared back. One of the iron spikes raked through the hair that fell across my shoulder, but that was as near as he got before I cut his legs out from under him, stabbed him through his wattled throat and galloped into the cave he had been guarding.

It was dusk on the third day since we had found our soldiers slain and our Sovereigns taken. The big Cats and hunting Birds had found the outlaw Zeirer's trail at last and we should no doubt have waited to find out where they were keeping Queen Susan and King Edmund before making our presence known. But the sounds coming from the cave, blood curdling, hoarse, tortured screams, feminine screams, told us we could not wait.

The High King leapt off his unicorn and, Rhindon flashing in his hand, charged in after me and disappeared into the smoky dimness. Shouts of alarm and then shrieks of pain and death echoed against the rocks. This time it was we who had the larger force and the advantage of surprise, and the enemy soon lay still at our feet.

"Susan?"

I could hear the High King's voice somewhere towards the back of the cave, cracked with smoke and fear.

"Edmund? Susan? Are you here? Can you hear me?"

They might not still be here. My men had gone after some of the outlaws who had escaped into other parts of the cave, into tunnels that led who knew where. I was about to call to the High King when I heard someone clear his throat. I turned to see one of the Faun archers at my elbow.

"What is it?"

His dark eyes were wide and full of what I could only describe as horror. "You– you'd better come, General."

I followed him to the largest chamber of the cave, one that had evidently been set up as this Zeier's dining and entertainment hall. The tables that surrounded the great fire pit had been turned over in the fray, food and wine was spilled among the bodies, along with the chest that had held Queen Susan's finery. Embroidered velvets and dainty silks, satin slippers and other feminine accouterments were flung everywhere, evidently pawed over before the skirmish.

And there, sprawled across the now-empty chest, lay a graceful form in a familiar royal gown, delicate white hands now bruised and cut, slender wrists torn, long dark hair matted and tangled and slicked with blood, and the face– the face of the fairest creature in all Narnia– battered out of all recognition.

My throat tightened. I had loved the Gentle Queen as I did her brothers and sister, as if she were my own foal. And to see her now like this, oh Aslan, it could not be. It must not be. I could not–

"Susan?"

I caught a breath, hearing once more the voice of the High King, still in one of the smaller passages. Searching. Searching.

"Edmund? Susan? Has anyone seen them?"

"Keep silent," I hissed to the Faun who still grieved at my side, and then I forced my expression into hardness and turned to face Peter as he darted into the main chamber. "Do not come here, My King. It is not something you should see."

I had heard of this Zeier, that he liked his girls young and that, when he tired of them, he would throw them to his men to do with as they pleased. Evidently their pleasure ended in torture and death. Oh, my Gentle Queen.

Peter's eyes filled with tears when they saw the grief in mine, and his face, so recently aged with worry and fear, now seemed pitifully young. "Oreius?"

I put both hands on his shoulders, squeezing them more tightly than I meant to. "Please, My King. Do not look. You do not want to remember her this way."

The colt shook his head, his mouth moving but no words coming from it, and then he wrenched away from me, bolting towards the woeful sight I had tried to shield him from. He stopped before he reached her, a low, grieving cry rising from his throat. I caught him as his knees buckled and pulled him against me, holding his head against my chest, not letting him see anymore.

For a moment he clung to me, his sobs coming painfully, convulsively, and then once again he shoved me away.

"Edmund. I have to find Edmund. Edmund! Ed?"

He stumbled again into the gray dimness of the cave, and I followed after him. "My King–"

"Here! Over here, My King!"

One of the Tigers that guarded the High King loped out of the darkness, teeth gleaming in the flicker of the torchlight.

"Babur," Peter breathed. "Where?"

"This way."

The High King followed the tiger into a low-ceilinged alcove at the side of the chamber, hardly more than a hole in the rock. Little wonder we had missed it earlier.

"Hurry," the Tiger urged.

His twin, Bast, was already there, curled around a quivering, huddled heap that barely seemed human. Peter threw himself down onto the blood-soaked straw.

"Ed? Eddie?"

Edmund was gasping, gurgling, reaching desperate, stained hands to his brother as the Tigress tried to soothe him with low, nuzzling purrs. Someone had cut his throat and left him for dead.

"The cordial, Majesty."

Peter looked up at me as if the words held no meaning, and I gripped his shoulder.

"Peter, the cordial!"

At once he was scrambling for the little diamond bottle at his belt. Edmund's dark eyes were wide and pleading, and I clenched my fists, my jaw. Not the Just as well as the Gentle. Oh, Aslan, not both.

"Hold on, Ed," Peter breathed. "Just another minute."

He lifted his brother's head, his hand shaking as he brought the tiny flask to his lips. But before he could pour out even one drop, the dark eyes widened even more and then rolled back. Edmund's body convulsed and then stiffened. I caught a hard breath.

"Edmund." Peter tipped the bottle, and a single shining red drop fell against his brother's white lips. "Eddie, please. Please, please, don't go. Don't go."

He pulled Edmund up against him, his arms tightly around him, his face hidden in the mop of black hair. I bent my forelegs and knelt beside them, taking them both into my arms, lifting my face to the One who saw all.

_Mercy, Aslan. Mercy on these little ones._ _For the dark colt and for his brother._

And the slender, still body the High King and I both held suddenly drew breath.

**Author's Note: Now what do you think? Yes, I totally went there. Put down those torches and pitchforks. More to come. If you have any guesses about where I might take this story, please send me a PRIVATE message. That way if you're right, I can congratulate you at the end of the story. :)  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**Please Note: In case you missed the other notes, please be aware that I had to delete this story earlier today and repost it. So any reviews, favorites or alerts you may have had for it are gone. If you still want to and haven't yet, please review, alert and favorite again. I will be most grateful.**

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. Oreius also does not belong to me. I do, however, wish I could play in Narnia.**

Chapter Three

We spent two days at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Beaver, the closest refuge available to us until we were able to make our way back to Cair Paravel. Due to my size, I could do no more than rely on reports from my lieutenants and look in through the doorway from time to time. What I saw was always the same: the dark colt lying on a blanket, unmoving, his brother refusing to leave his side.

All this time, while Mrs. Beaver worried and fussed over them both and Mr. Beaver demanded to know what was to be done to avenge the Gentle Queen, Edmund did not wake. Peter did not sleep. He did not eat. He barely spoke. He only sat there on the ground, dark-ringed eyes fixed on Edmund's face as if he feared that, with even a glance away, he would look back and find his brother gone.

But as far as I could tell, as best Mrs. Beaver could tell, the cordial had done its work. The younger colt's wounds, wounds that were less than a breath from proving mortal, had been healed. Now he was only regathering his strength. We did not know yet what he had suffered at the hands of his captors. Or what he had seen. None of us made even an attempt to wake him. He would have to face his memories soon enough.

"Why hasn't someone gone after those devils?" Mr. Beaver demanded, not for the first time.

I glared down at him. "As I told you, our scouts are searching for them. They've found no sign of them yet. They will bring word the moment there is anything to tell."

"You ought to be with them," he said, glaring back. "Not hangin' about wasting time here."

I lifted a forefoot, thinking how easy it would be to silence him, but I stamped it on the ground instead. "I will see my Kings home."

I had nearly said "my colts."

"We will be leaving this morning as it is," I told him coldly. "They will be more comfortable at Cair Paravel, and no doubt the Queen Lucy will be looking for them. I am certain she has received the message the High King sent her."

Mr. Beaver frowned. "She won't like it. She won't like being told to stay put when she needs her brothers and they need her. Grieved as she must be."

"No doubt. No doubt." I looked in through the doorway and saw Peter still sitting there, not moving. "High King?"

For a moment I thought he had not heard me, and then his eyes flicked to mine and, as quickly, back to his brother.

"Yes, Oreius?"

"We should be leaving now, Majesty. The sun is already getting high, and we have far to go."

"All right."

He stood, still with his eyes fixed on Edmund. Then he lifted his brother up, blanket and all, and carried him out into the summer sunshine. Unsteady but determined, he managed to get Edmund and himself onto the Horse's back without aid.

Phillip, too, had been unable to enter the home of the Beavers, so he had stood outside it these past two days, looking in at his boy as often as he was able, waiting for word that he had awakened and spoken. But when he looked back at his riders, it was only the High King who met his gaze and nodded for him to move on.

"Take us home," Peter said, his voice low and longing, and with a soft whicker, the Horse turned to the east and Cair Paravel.

It was a long, weary way back. All along the road, the Narnians gathered, heads bowed with sorrow and reverence as their bereft Kings passed by. The body of the Gentle Queen had been sent ahead with the messengers. By now she already lay in state, awaiting the return of her brothers before she was forever laid to rest. The whole kingdom grieved, and there was nothing to comfort them.

The Queen Lucy came first to meet us when the Robins brought news of our approach. She looked pale and strange in unrelieved black, but she held her head high as she stood in the courtyard, holding her arms out to the High King. Whether she wanted to take his burden from him or was merely seeking the comfort and shelter of his arms, I could not say, but she ran to him, pressing her face to his side before he could dismount and then pressing her lips to Edmund's dark locks.

Despite her obvious resolve a moment before, she was weeping now and the High King was weeping, too. He kept one arm around his brother's limp form, but with his other he pulled her close, pressing his lips and then his cheek against her bright hair.

"Lu. Oh, Lu."

Seeing his weary desperation, she found her resolve once more and reached up to stroke his cheek. "It's all right now. You're home. You're both home. It's all right."

She led Phillip up to the steps that went into the castle. Then she helped the High King dismount. He would not let anyone else do it. He would not let anyone else take up the burden he carried. But when he stumbled on the stairway, I caught up him and his brother both in my arms and carried them to the High King's chamber.

"Rest, Majesty," I told him as I settled them in the wide bed. "Your brother is here. You need not leave him. Your sister is with you now as well. You are home."

Queen Lucy sat on the bed beside him, stroking his fair hair, soothing him with the soft comforting sounds the Gentle Queen had always used. If they had been motherless before, they were doubly so now, and the Valiant Queen was still such a child to attempt to fill that place when her sister had been little more than a child herself. Still, Queen Lucy was not called the Valiant without cause.

Already she had coaxed her elder brother into sleep, though after a full week of wakefulness, he could not have resisted much longer. Afterward, the healers were able to shift him farther to the side of the bed and then examine his brother.

"We find no sign of injury now," the Cherry Dryad said, looking on the sleeping Kings with pity. "Aslan with them, they both need merely to rest."

Queen Lucy had stolen over beside the younger of her brothers, holding his hand in both of her own. "Oreius, please, tell me what happened. The report said almost nothing other than he and– and Susan had been found. What did they do to him?"

I looked at the dark colt's throat, long, pale and smooth with his head thrown back against the pillows, and tried to blot out the memory of it slashed and gaping. His young face was now unmarked, but I could still remember the bruises and cuts, the burns that had marred it as he lay in the bloodied straw where we had found him. His hands, slender yet strong, made as much for a pen as a sword, were not now swollen and broken. And his breathing was almost silent, deep and slow, in and out, full of peace, yet I could still hear him gasping, half-drowned in his own life blood as he reached towards his brother and the healing of the cordial. I could still–

No. I would not remember it anymore. Both colts were home. Both colts were well. It was the only thing that mattered. That and the destruction of that filth Zeier.

That much I would not forget.

**Author's Note: Okay, I don't know if I'll post every day for much longer, but we'll see. Do let me know what you think so far. Is the Oreius POV working? More to come.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. Oreius also does not belong to me. I do, however, wish I could play in Narnia.**

Chapter Four

The next morning dawned bright and clear, as lush and beautiful as any summer morning I had ever seen. But the Birds did not sing. The small forest creatures, the Rabbits and Squirrels and such, did not chatter and play. Even the roar and rush of the Eastern Sea seemed hushed.

Narnia was in mourning.

I had stood there all night in the chamber of the High King, watching the stars, hoping the Great Lion would speak some guidance or comfort through them. Instead, they had merely faded with the sun's rising.

The three foals lay together on the bed. How very young they were. The healers, after last night's examinations, had gently bathed both of the colts where they lay, careful not to wake them as they dressed them in clean nightshirts. I had not been surprised to see that the colts hardly stirred, exhausted as they were. Neither had I been surprised when their sister crept back into the room afterwards and nestled next to the High King.

Even in his sleep, he had drawn her to him, pulling his brother close to his other side. He held them there even now.

"Always the protector," I murmured over him, and his eyes opened.

"Oreius?" He looked dazed for a moment, confused, and then the blue eyes widened. "Where's Edmund? Ed?"

"It is well, Majesty," I soothed. "Your brother is there next to you. And your sister."

He exhaled heavily, seeing them both still asleep, and held them closer. Then, touching a kiss to his sister's forehead, he eased his arms from around them and sat up.

"Oreius, Susan . . . "

His eyes were pleading now, pleading for me to tell him that what we both had seen was no more than a hideous nightmare, but that was beyond my power. I bowed my head.

"She lies in her own chamber, Majesty. Her ladies have done all they were able to prepare her body for burial. I assume you will want that to be seen to right away."

His eyes closed and then he lowered his head, nodding. It was summer. We had found the Gentle Queen three days ago. We had no choice now but to bury her as quickly as possible.

"Today?" I pressed.

It was more a direction than a question, and again the High King nodded.

"Will you– " His face contorted with the effort to steady his voice. "Will you see everything is taken care of?"

"Certainly, My King. Do not let it trouble you. When all is ready, I will come for you."

"And me."

The younger Queen sat up next to her oldest brother, the anxiousness in her blue eyes a mirror of his.

"Of course, Lu," he said, dredging up a faint smile.

She did not smile in return. "How's Edmund?"

"Still asleep." The High King stroked one hand over his brother's black hair, protective, soothing, and then he looked at me. "Shouldn't he be awake by now?"

I studied the younger colt's pale face. His sleep had thus far been peaceful and dreamless. Perhaps it would be kinder to allow him to stay in that state rather than forcing him to wake and remember the horror he had been through. But before I could answer, he gave a faint gasp and his dark eyes snapped open, darting from his brother's face to his sister's and then to mine and back again, wide with sudden terror.

He sat up, scrambling away from the three of us until his back was against the head of the bed and there was nowhere else to go. Then he shrank down into himself, shielding his face and body with trembling arms as if bracing for a blow.

Peter glanced at me, bewildered, and then turned again to his brother.

"It's all right, Ed. It's all right." His voice was gentle, soothing, and he carefully laid one hand on Edmund's arm. "You're home. We're all home. It's all right."

Still moving carefully, he drew that arm down, revealing those terror-filled eyes, and then he smiled slightly, almost fearfully.

"It's me, Eddie. Peter. You're all right now. You're–"

With another gasp, Edmund lunged at him, hiding his face against the older colt's chest, clinging to him with a grip of iron, soundlessly sobbing.

Peter held him as tightly. "Shh, shh, it's all right now. It's all right."

Lucy moved over next to Edmund, huddling against him, pressing comforting little kisses to his shoulder, to the back of his hair, soothing him as the Gentle Queen had always soothed them all.

For a long while, the three of them stayed that way, huddled together, grieving together, and I wished I could somehow take at least a portion of that grief upon myself. _Oh, Aslan, comfort them._

"Lu?" the High King said, when their tears were finally spent. "Do you think you could bring Edmund something to eat?"

She hugged them both closer for a moment and then, with a tender kiss to Edmund's temple, she nodded. "I'll get us all something."

Grabbing up her dressing gown, she scurried out of the room.

Peter glanced at me again, and then pulled back from Edmund, searching his face, trying once again to smile. "Are you hungry, Ed?"

Edmund swallowed hard, looking as if he might be sick, and shook his head.

"Please, Eddie, you need to–"

Again Edmund shook his head, this time more firmly, his dark eyes pleading. As always, Peter relented, taking a steadying hold of his shoulders instead. Then he glanced at me before looking into his brother's eyes, worry and dread and compassion mingled in his own.

"Ed? Do you– Do you want to tell me about it?"

The dark colt shook his head once again, this time frantically, his face turning impossibly paler than before, his breath coming again in silent gasps. His fingers were twisted into the front of his brother's nightshirt and he looked as if he desperately wanted to tell Peter something.

But when he opened his mouth to speak, there was no sound.

**Author's Note: Shall I continue? Let me know what you think.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. Oreius also does not belong to me. I do, however, wish I could play in Narnia.**

Chapter Five

"Oreius?" The High King looked up at me and then back at his brother, blue eyes filled with worry. "Edmund, what is it? Tell me."

I moved closer to the bed where they sat, studying the dark colt's face. He was trembling now, still desperately clutching his brother's nightshirt, his upper lip gleaming with fine sweat and those near-black eyes fixed pleadingly on Peter. Again, he opened his mouth to speak. Again there was only silence.

He shook his head once more, and a single tear trickled from the corner of his eye. The High King looked again at me and then back at him.

"Tell me, Ed. Please. Say something." He stroked the dark hair back from the younger colt's temple, wiping away that tear as he did. "Ed?"

As gently as I was able, I turned Edmund's face up to me, searching his eyes. He flinched almost imperceptibly, as if he had to force himself to remember I was not one of those who had tortured him, mind and body.

"My King," I said, keeping my voice soft and low, "are you in pain?"

He pressed his fist against his heart, eyes welling now with tears, but he only shook his head.

"Can you speak?"

Once more he shook his head, and then he hid his face against his brother's shoulder.

Peter held him there, rubbing his back, his voice gently soothing even if there was panic in his eyes. "You don't–" His voice broke slightly and then steadied. "You don't have to worry, Ed. We'll get the healers to do something to fix it. Or we'll give you more of the cordial. It always–"

Edmund shook his head again, still huddled against Peter's shoulder. I knew it as well as my Kings did. The cordial had done its work. It was very unlikely to do more than it had already, one drop or twenty. Still, we could not stand by and do nothing.

"I will send again for the healers, My King," I told Peter. "And for the Queen Lucy with her cordial."

As I had feared, neither was of any use. The High King and the little Queen stayed at their brother's side as the Cherry Dryad finished her latest examination. Her sigh was as desolate as a bitter wind through bare winter branches.

"It is as I suspected, General," she told me when I drew her aside, her lovely eyes full of sympathy. "The cordial has healed all of his bodily wounds already. There is no reason, at least no physical reason, that King Edmund should not be able to speak."

"This was not caused by the wound to his throat?"

She shook her leafy locks. "He hasn't even a scar to show for that. But we can only guess at what scars he carries from when he was captive, what he might have seen, especially concerning the Gentle Queen. Unless those invisible wounds heal, there is nothing we can do."

"And how do such wounds heal, Cerise?"

She looked doubtful. "With time, perhaps, and by the grace of the Lion."

I dismissed her and returned to the Kings and Queen. They were still seated close together on the bed of the High King. All three of them looked up at me.

"What did she say?" Peter asked.

I glanced at Edmund, unwilling to give them the healer's bleak report, and then managed a grave smile. "It will . . . take time, High King. If King Edmund will rest and take proper nourishment, no doubt he will improve."

The High King was wary of my words, I could read that much in his eyes, but he forced a smile anyway and put one arm around his brother's shoulders.

"See, Ed? You're going to be all right. Really."

Edmund only took hold of his sleeve, trying again to speak. One word. Just one word. A word none of us could make out.

"What is it, Eddie? What do you want?"

Edmund stood up and tugged at Peter's arm, and Peter also stood.

"What is it, Ed?"

He mouthed the word again, and looked at me. I could only shake my head.

"What, My King? What would you have?"

He looked around, clearly frustrated, and then he pointed at Queen Lucy.

"Do you want me to get something for you, Edmund?" she asked, puzzled.

He shook his head and then pointed at her again. Then held his hand over her and looked at all of us. A taller Lucy?

_Susan._

The young Queen looked at him, eyes filled with bewildered tears, and then at Peter.

Peter bit his lip, steeling himself. "I– I don't know, Ed. I don't think–"

The dark colt mouthed the word again, his expression suddenly hard and determined, and he tightened his hold on Peter's sleeve. _Susan. Susan._

Then his determination melted into pleading. Once again he pressed his fist over his heart, and the anguish in his dark eyes was nigh unbearable. My own pain was great. I could hardly imagine that of my Kings and Queen. Of this King in particular. He needed to see his sister, to make his farewell, to beg her forgiveness, to know she was forever gone.

"Perhaps he should, High King," I said softly. "Perhaps we all should."

And, his head lowered in grief, the High King nodded.

**Author's Note: So, tell me what you think.  
**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. Oreius also does not belong to me. I do, however, wish I could play in Narnia.**

Chapter Six

"Thank you, Oreius."

I bowed slightly, holding the door to the silent chamber as the High King led his brother and younger sister past. Then I, too, entered the room and closed that door behind me.

This afternoon we would have a public ceremony, a ceremony at which all Narnia could grieve. This morning was private. Not royalty grieving for royalty, but family for family. Brothers and sister grieving the too-soon, too-brutal ending of their beloved sister's life.

The body of the Gentle Queen lay in the middle of her high bed, in the middle of the room that was a reflection of her grace and loveliness. In reverence for her memory and to spare us a painful reminder of what she had suffered, she was wrapped in fine white silk. From head to foot, she was wrapped, all clean innocence and peace now, and beneath her were lilies, lilies that covered the bed and, almost, the familiar smell of death.

I bowed my head as the three Sovereigns went, hand in hand, to the bedside and there knelt. This should not be. It should not be. They were too young. She was too young. She was too much needed and too well loved to leave us now. We had all failed her, our Gentle Queen, perhaps I the most. I had chosen her escort. I had thought them sufficient for a journey to Archenland to visit the court of King Lune. I had been too busy with matters more important than escorting my Sovereigns to a friendly nation in time of peace.

My head drooped lower. Who was I to pitch and welter in remorse when others had so much more to bear?

I moved as silently as I could to where the dark colt knelt and laid one hand on his bowed head. I could feel the all-consuming grief and guilt that enveloped him. He had assured his brother that he and the Gentle Queen would be well protected. He had given Peter that smug little grin of his and convinced him that the guard, especially led by himself, would be more than sufficient. And he had been wrong. We had all been disastrously, horrifically wrong.

He did not acknowledge my touch except with the tremor that ran through him, and then with a soundless cry he broke away from it. He pulled away from his startled brother and sister and stood up, fumbling for the hand that lay still and cold under the white silk.

Queen Lucy looked up from her oldest brother's other side, eyes wide and tear filled, but Peter stood, wary but putting a comforting arm around Edmund's shoulders, trying to draw him back.

"Don't, Ed. Please, don't. She's–"

Face contorted with fury and grief, Edmund shrugged him off and still tugged at the silk, trying to free that hand. He did not need to see it. He did not need to remember it bruised and broken and white with death. He did not–

"Please, Majesty."

I took hold of his shoulders, gentle and yet firm, to pull him back, and he whirled towards me, beating his fists against my chest because he was not tall enough to reach my face, silent but for the rasp of air in his sobs but forming venomous words that I knew I did not wish to hear.

"Ed!"

Peter pulled him back, taking him into a tight embrace that was meant all at once to calm and restrain him. Edmund struggled for only another moment and then clung to him, eyes tear filled and pleading as he looked towards the swaddled figure on the bed and then back at the High King. Peter's eyes also brimmed with tears and, with a faint sob, he released his hold.

Lucy at once went to him, huddling against his side, weeping, too, as Edmund turned again to the Gentle Queen. Tears were streaming down his cheeks now as he looked upon her, crushing guilt in those fathomless dark eyes. He touched two fingers to his trembling lips and then brought them to the silk that covered what was left of hers. Then, as he had before, he pressed his fist against his heart, his face contorted with pain and wordless regret.

_Sorry. I'm sorry._

Once more he fumbled with the silk that covered her hand. Peter turned Lucy's face aside, holding her head against him as their brother pulled and tugged until that hand was finally free of its wrappings. Then Edmund stared down at it. It was not white now but bluish with decay, the slim white fingers he had known now bloated and distorted.

Peter looked pleadingly at me, and I clasped his shoulder, steadying him. For whatever reason, Edmund needed this. He needed to see, to touch, to know. He needed–

The High King and I both turned at the wordless cry the younger colt made. He had found what he had searched for and never wanted to see. There on that hand was a little gold ring fashioned like a wreath of daffodils and mountain ash leaves, a tiny replica of her royal crown. He sank to his knees beside the bed once more, holding that mangled hand in both of his own, trembling as he pressed his lips to the ring in wordless penance and farewell.

After a moment, Peter took that hand from him and gently covered it once again. Then he drew his brother close, holding him and their little sister against his heart, the three of them again grieving.

And I grieved with them.

**Author's Note: I'd love to know what you think.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. Oreius also does not belong to me. I do, however, wish I could play in Narnia.**

Chapter Seven

"Nothing?"

I narrowed my eyes, searching the Hawk's face for any sign of hope, but he only shook his head.

"Forgive me, General. But the one trail we did find vanished in the bed of a stream. The Dogs and Leopards are trying to pick it up again, but they have not yet been able."

I frowned. That was the fourth report I'd had in the two days since the funeral of the Gentle Queen. All of them the same. No sign of the fiend who stolen her life and almost taken her younger brother's.

I exhaled heavily. I wanted to be out there leading the hunt. I needed to be. I hadn't protected my Queen, but I could at least avenge her. I could at least bring her murderer to justice.

Still, I could not leave. Not yet. I glanced over to where the two Kings sat halfheartedly playing chess. They were both thin and pale, too worn and too on edge for my liking. I would not leave them, at least not yet. Not until I could truly be of use elsewhere.

I dismissed the Hawk and went to them.

"Anything?" the High King asked.

The dark colt's hand tightened on the chess piece he held, his eyes asking the same question.

"I fear not, Majesty."

I repeated the message the Hawk had brought, and for a moment Peter was as silent as Edmund. Then he merely sighed and dredged up the stiff smile that was the only kind he could manage these last few days. He was wearing thin with grief and care, as exhausted as his brother. We needed to hear something. _Dear Aslan, we need to hear something soon._

"Oh, look, Ed," Peter said, his voice as bright and unconvincing as his smile. "Finish that move, and you'll have checkmate."

Edmund looked at the board and then at the piece he held. The white queen. Suddenly his face contorted, and he slammed his fist onto the chessboard and sent the pieces flying .

For a moment, there was only the rattle of ivory on stone, and then dead silence. I knew the younger colt hated few things more than when his brother allowed him to win – at chess or any other kind of competition. And I had watched them play enough to know that was precisely what Peter had done.

Peter looked at me, hopeless weariness in his eyes, and then he quietly knelt to retrieve the pieces. Before he could touch even one of them, Edmund shoved him out of the way and started picking them up himself, tears streaming down his pale cheeks as he slammed them one by one back onto the board. All but the white queen. That one he stood gently in the square where it belonged.

He knelt there a moment more, head down, breath coming in harsh, catching little jerks. When they finally slowed, he mopped his wet face on his sleeve and gave his brother a tight, rueful smile. Peter smiled, too, still that stiff, unconvincing smile, and helped him to his feet.

"Come on, Ed. Maybe we'll do something else."

Edmund took a shuddering little breath and sniffed and then sat down again. Peter sat, too, struggling for something to say. Only the entrance of their sister broke the silence.

"I made us all something to eat," she said, cheerful as a little bird. "You will try some of it, won't you, Edmund?"

He drew back from her, his expression wary, almost sickly. Despite Peter's tireless coaxing, he had eaten hardly more than a mouthful since his return to the Cair, and precious little of that had stayed down. Now, as always, he shook his head.

"Couldn't you just try some?"

Lucy took the cover from the tray she had brought, revealing a hearty soup and some fresh bread and some strawberries from the kitchen garden.

Peter sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. Then, once again, that stiff smile was on his face.

"Please, Ed. Just a taste." He spooned up some of the soup, inhaling the aroma. "That smells really good, Lu. Did you make it?"

Lucy nodded, looking hopefully at Edmund. "I made it for you. Just like Su–" She glanced at Peter, a tear glimmering in her eye and then swiftly blinked away. "Just like you like it."

Edmund pulled back even more from her, and Peter frowned, seeing the hurt in her expression.

"Just a taste," he said, offering his brother the spoon, but Edmund would not take it.

Frown deepening, Peter dropped the spoon back into the bowl, rattling it against the china, and picked up a piece of the bread, offering that instead.

With a vague shake of his head, Edmund turned his face away. Jaw clenched, Peter turned it back.

"Edmund, you need to eat. If you don't eat, you're going to die."

Queen Lucy looked at me, eyes wide, and I moved closer to the colts.

"My King–"

"You're going to die, Edmund, do you hear me?" Peter's eyes were fixed on his brother's. "Do you understand?"

Edmund bit his lip, pleading with those eyes Peter could never deny anything, and once more shook his head. He struggled to speak and could not, but I could tell what he was trying to say.

_Can't. Can't. Peter._

"Please, My King," I began again, and Edmund held out his hands, begging now. Peter grabbed his wrist, shoving the bread into his hand, forcing his fingers around it.

"Eat it," he demanded, now looming over the younger colt. "Eat it!"

Edmund fought away from him, upsetting chair and table, tray and all, in his terror.

"Peter!" I grabbed the older colt, shaking him by the shoulders. "Stop it. Stop it now."

"Peter," Lucy whispered, her small hand tugging at his sleeve.

Peter looked at her, at me, at Edmund huddled and trembling now in the corner of the room, and his face crumpled into tears.

"Ed. Eddie?"

He pushed away from me and flung himself down next to his brother, pulling him into a tight embrace, holding him close despite Edmund's frantic struggle to get free.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please, Ed, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Aslan, forgive me, Eddie, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

He held on tight until the struggles ceased and Edmund was clinging to him, shaken with silent sobs. After a moment, their sister went to them and clasped them both in her arms.

"It's all right, Peter. We know." She kissed her oldest brother's wet cheek. "We know you didn't mean it. We know."

"Oh, Lu," he sobbed. "Lu."

I kept my expression solemn, but my heart broke for them, all three of them. _Aslan, be with these little ones. Do not forget your chosen. Let justice be done on those who have caused such pain to the innocent._

As if in answer, a Raven fluttered in through the open window.

"News, General! I'm sent from your troops with news! They've found the trail of Zeier and his men."

**Author's Note: I would be very happy if you would answer the poll on my profile page about story updates. I'd be even happier to know what you thought of this chapter.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. Oreius also does not belong to me. I do, however, wish I could play in Narnia.**

Chapter Eight

The High King scrambled to his feet, pulling his brother and sister up beside him. "What have they found? Where?"

"They have found Zeier?" I asked.

The Raven shifted from foot to foot, bobbing his head. "Not Zeier himself, General, but we have found his trail. He and the remainder of his men escaped the cave through tunnels into the heart of the mountain and then out into the woods. They are headed north now."

I nodded. "But the scouts have not yet come upon them?"

"No, General. They are still well ahead of us, no doubt making for another defensible stronghold."

"No doubt." I turned to the High King. "Our troops have been awaiting the order to move out since your return to the Cair, Majesty. By your leave, I will lead them out at once. We will find these renegades and, living or dead, bring them back to you."

"_We_ shall bring them back," Peter said, his young face grim and determined.

His brother clutched his arm, that same grim determination in his dark eyes, but Peter only shrugged free of him.

"No. Not this time."

The dark colt turned to me, pleading, and I shook my head.

"Forgive me, Majesty, but you must not. You must recover your strength before you will be fit for such a mission."

"He's right, Ed," the High King said. "You've hardly slept or eaten since we got home. You're not–"

Edmund made an impatient, huffing sound and looked his brother up and down. His meaning was clear: Peter had been hardly different himself.

"Fine, Ed. Just fine."

Mouth tight, Peter knelt by the overturned tray, found the remains of the loaf of bread and ate a large piece. Glaring at him, Edmund grabbed a large chunk of the bread, too, and stuffed it into his mouth, wolfing it down, all the while not breaking eye contact.

Almost immediately, he blanched and turned his head, both hands covering his mouth.

"Ed!"

Peter grabbed his brother's arm and hurried him to the wash basin, holding Edmund's head over it as he was quietly sick. Lucy handed Peter a clean damp cloth, and with fatherly tenderness, he wiped Edmund's mouth and the sudden sweat from his face.

"You can't go, Ed. I'm sorry, but you need to stay here."

Edmund only leaned against him, head bowed, no longer protesting.

"Peter," Lucy began, "I want to–"

"No, Lu, it's too dangerous. Besides, you have to stay here and look after Edmund. Promise me you'll stay here at the Cair until we get back. Promise."

"But, Peter–"

"No, Lu. Please. Promise me."

She stuck out her lower lip.

"Please, Lu, for me." Peter touched the back of his fingers to her cheek. "I need to know Edmund will be all right while I'm gone."

She sighed. "All right, Peter. I promise I'll stay here. I just wanted to help."

"I know. But you can help best by being someplace where I don't have to worry about you." He pulled her close, hugging her and Edmund both in farewell, and then released them. "If the men are ready, Oreius, so am I."

I bowed slightly. "Just as you say, Majesty. We will leave within the hour."

OOOOO

By midday we were well on our way. My soldiers, human and Beast, were silent and swift, knowing what this mission meant. To the High King and his brother and sister. To me and to all of their subjects. For the memory of the Gentle Queen and for the sake of sweet Narnia herself, this vile Zeier had to be stopped.

It was dusk before the High King broke his silence.

"Do you suppose they'll be all right, Oreius?"

I did not have to ask who he meant. He had been looking back towards the Cair every few minutes ever since we had started out. I knew he was torn between bringing his sister's murderers to justice and protecting the family he had left, but I did not suggest he return. I knew he needed this, even though I knew he wished for his brother, the shield to his sword, to be at his side.

Well, this was for the Just King as much as it was for the Gentle Queen. The dark colt would be a long while recovering from what had happened to him. Perhaps he would never be the same. I knew as well as his brother did that, if something did not change, if he did not begin to eat and drink and sleep once more, he would not long survive. We had to make certain he knew this Zeier could never hurt him or anyone again.

"Your brother and sister are safe, My King. They have double their usual guard and an extra detail of men patrolling the walls of the Cair. You need not worry."

He nodded. Already the activity seemed to be doing him good. He had eaten well when we had stopped earlier, for the first time since we had heard the party of King Edmund and Queen Susan had been attacked, and now there was even a hint of color in his face. He had never been one to sit back and let others attend to difficult matters for him. It was one of the reasons he was so well loved by his subjects. No doubt it was one of the reasons Aslan Himself had thought him fit to be High King. He served and did not expect to be served.

"General Oreius?"

I flicked my tail, startled by the Faun archer who was suddenly at my side. "What is it, Bennock?"

"Will we be stopping soon? There is a clear running stream just over the next rise and a very defensible campsite just beyond."

I nodded. "Yes."

"No."

We both looked at the High King, and he shook his head.

"We cannot stop now. Zeier and his men are already too far ahead of us. We can't–"

"We can't give him the advantage, Majesty, of us being already spent by the time we do reach him. And, from the reports I have, he does not seem to be in any hurry. He seems to believe he has escaped without a trace."

"True, Majesty," the Raven scout cawed. "True."

Peter looked up at the darkening sky, frowning, and then let out a heavy breath. "All right. We'll stop for the night. But we'll be off all the earlier in the morning."

"As you say, My King."

I gave the order, and before long we had set up camp. Knowing they had to be up well before dawn, the men made quick work of supper and, apart from those on the first watch, were soon asleep. The High King, though he again ate well, did not even make a pretense of sleeping. He merely sat with his back to a tree and stared into the fire.

"Majesty," I said softly when it was drawing close to the middle of the night. "You need your rest as much as any of the men. More."

"All right," he said, not looking away from the flames. "I will–"

"High King." The Raven swooped down onto Peter's shoulder, his croaking voice low. "One of the sentries says there is someone approaching the camp. On the east side. He wants to know if you wish him to be captured or killed."

"Only one?" Peter asked. "Is he sure?"

The Raven nodded. "The intruder is hanging back, just out of sight, but there is no sign of anyone else."

Peter stood, drawing his sword. "Maybe Zeier sent someone back to see if he was being followed. We'd better find out what this fellow knows."

I drew my weapon as well. "Silent and swift now."

The High King and I crept towards the spot where the intruder had last been seen and then waited. For a long while, there was not a whisper of sound, not a breath of movement. Then we both spotted it at the same time– a tiny quiver in a stand of rushes at the edge of the stream.

I nodded at Peter and we crept forward, both of us silent shadows in the night. When we were in place on either side of the reeds, I nodded again. With a cry, he leapt forward from his side as I did on mine, flinging the intruder onto his back, wresting the sword from his hands.

Our captive made no sound, but he fought like a wildcat until we dragged him to the middle of camp and into the light of the fire.

Once there, Peter released his hold, his jaw clenched with fury.

"Edmund."

**Author's Note: **So now the adventury part starts. What do you think?


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. Oreius also does not belong to me. I do, however, wish I could play in Narnia.**

Chapter Nine

"Edmund Alexander Pevensie!" The High King's eyes flashed in the firelight. "You promised you'd stay at the Cair."

The younger colt pushed himself into a sitting position and then began brushing dirt and grass off his tunic, shaking his head as he did.

"Actually, My King," I said, "he made no such promise."

"Oreius–" Peter scowled and turned back to his brother. "Whether or not you actually promised, Ed, you knew what I wanted you to do. Go back. Now."

Edmund looked up at me, clearly seeking an ally, and I gave him a glare of stern reproof.

"You endanger yourself, Majesty, with such recklessness. Do you think your brother and sister need to add your loss to the grief they already carry? You should not have come, and you should go back." I glanced at the High King and let my expression soften. "In the morning."

"In the morning!" Peter raged. "Oreius–"

"It is the middle of the night, My King. A few more hours will make little difference, and traveling by daylight will be safer for your brother."

Edmund nodded encouragingly, and Peter crossed his arms over his chest.

"And you know what will happen. In the morning, he will think of something else to keep him with us, and then something else and something else until we're days away from Cair Paravel and it's too late to send him back."

The dark colt ducked his head, but I saw that sly flicker in his eyes and knew his brother was not exaggerating.

"_Only_ until the morning, High King." I made my expression sterner than before and looked at Edmund. "Then he goes back with no further protest. Agreed?"

Edmund frowned and then, with a frustrated little huff, nodded his head.

"Very well then, My King. Come sit while I have someone prepare you a place to sleep. I suppose I shall have to do additional training with the guards I left at the Cair. They were no doubt watching for anyone who would try to sneak in, not someone sneaking out."

Peter glared, but Edmund only gave him a superior little smirk and sat down, both of them leaning against the same wide oak. Neither the High King nor I should have been surprised to find the younger colt here. Edmund knew the Cair better than I did myself, particularly, as he liked to say, "the sneaky bits." I had been remiss in not bringing this to the attention of the guard I had set. No doubt the Great Lion had given these colts into my charge just to keep me alert.

And humble.

"Oreius," Peter said after a moment, "I need you to send a messenger back to the Cair. Right away, if you will. I don't want Lucy fretting any longer than necessary about Edmund disappearing." He scowled fiercely at his brother. "Even though she's probably already frantic realizing he's gone and worried half-sick about what might have happened to him and heartbroken to know he didn't even consider that before he took off."

Edmund studied his boots, and I bowed slightly.

"At once, High King. And, yes, I will have the messenger remind her that she gave you her word to stay put."

I dispatched a pair of swift bats to take the message to the Queen Lucy, checked with our sentinels and then returned to the fireside.

"Have the scouts seen anything?" the High King asked, and I shook my head.

"All is quiet, Majesty. You both should sleep now."

He snapped the little oak twig he had been worrying and tossed it into the fire. "I wish we had something to go on. Any information about Zeier and his men or their plans or even how they're armed would be better than walking into their stronghold blind."

Edmund pushed away from the tree, slapping himself on the chest, eyes eager, and Peter glanced at me. We had not pressed the younger King for information about his captors. It was too painful for him to remember, if he remembered at all.

Peter shook his head. "Ed, you don't have to–"

Edmund slapped more vigorously.

"Perhaps just things like their numbers and their arms, High King," I suggested, feeling as wary as Peter looked. "Not . . . other things."

Peter said nothing for a moment, only searching his brother's hopeful eyes. Then he nodded. "Do you remember how many they were, Ed?"

Edmund held up all of his fingers four times in succession and then added another three.

I nodded approvingly at him. At least my constant insistence on precise observation had made some impression on the colt.

"And weapons?" Peter asked. "How were they armed?"

Edmund shrugged and touched the sword at his belt and then the dagger. Then he made the motion of drawing a bow.

Peter pursed his lips. "All right. Nothing else? Nothing we should be prepared for?"

Edmund shook his head.

Peter glanced at me. "Forty-three of them. Phillip said they killed seven during the attack. We killed at least a dozen in the cave."

"Seventeen," I corrected.

"Seventeen. That leaves only nineteen. We should be able to take them easily."

"Unless there are others who were not with them that day." I looked at the younger colt. "Did you hear of others who were to join them, My King?"

His forehead wrinkled and his breath came a little more rapidly as he forced himself to think back to the day of the attack and the time he had been held prisoner. Finally, he shrugged, bewildered, disappointed.

"Did they say where they were headed, Majesty?" I asked.

Edmund's eyes widened a little and again his forehead wrinkled. He struggled visibly, desperate to be of some use in tracking down his sister's murderer, but he only grew more and more agitated.

"Did they, Ed?" Peter urged.

Sweat beaded on Edmund's upper lip, his mouth quivering as he fought to speak, and then he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed both hands to the sides of his head.

Peter rubbed his shoulder. "It's all right. It's all right. You don't have to think about it again. It's all right."

Frustrated tears welled into Edmund's eyes, and he clutched Peter's arm, shaking his head, his breath coming in unsteady gasps now. Clearly his mind could not or would not go back there.

"Come on."

Peter put one arm around his brother and leaned back against the tree once more, pulling Edmund's head down to his shoulder, holding him there until he relaxed. Edmund was still trembling, but after a few minutes I noticed he was asleep, the first true sleep he'd had in days. Peter followed a short time later, and I could not help a fond smile as I looked on the two of them, their young faces slack and vulnerable, the younger clinging to the elder.

_Always the protector_, I thought of the High King again, and with another scan of the silent camp, I let myself doze off.

What seemed like only a moment later, there was a rustling in the clearing. My eyes snapped open and my hand went instinctively to my sword. Then I released it and went to the dark colt. He was crouched against the tree, eyes wide with terror and confusion, breath coming in wracking sobs as he tried once again to speak.

_Peter. Peter_.

I knelt beside him, taking hold of his arms to steady him. "What is it, My King?"

He trembled against me, begging with those near-black eyes. _Peter. Peter._

I looked around and saw the High King hurrying from the stream, blotting his mouth with his sleeve.

"Ed?"

He dropped to his knees at Edmund's side, almost knocked over when the younger King lunged at him.

Peter hugged him close and then looked up at me, bewildered. "What happened?"

"I am not certain, High King. As best I can tell, he woke and found you gone."

"I just went to get a drink, Ed. It's all right. What is it? Did you have a bad dream?"

Edmund nodded rapidly, keeping his face hidden against Peter's shoulder.

"It's all right, Ed. I'm here. I'm here. I won't leave you. I won't let you go."

The dark colt's sobs finally quieted and soon he slept again. His brother merely sat watching over him, stroking his hair and holding him safe, and I knew that Edmund would not be heading home at dawn. When this business with Zeier was over, then the two of them would return to the Cair. Together or not at all.

**Author's Note: If you haven't voted in the poll on my profile page, I'd love for you to do so. Thanks. **


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. Oreius also does not belong to me. I do, however, wish I could play in Narnia.**

Chapter Ten

I stood watching the stars, waiting for the dawn to come. It had been six days since we had found Zeier's cave. Six days since we had discovered the pitiful remains of Queen Susan and found King Edmund a breath away from joining her in death. Six days since the world had turned upside down.

Well, we would set about righting it, even though it would never be quite right again, especially not for my Kings and the littlest Queen, their sister. But if we could not have the Gentle Queen restored to us, we could at least bring justice for her sake.

"Aslan."

The Name came out louder than I had intended, and I glanced towards the old oak, but the colts were still huddled together against its trunk, both asleep now. Edmund still trembled, clutching his brother's shirt, and I could not help wondering if, in his sleep, he once more fought the terrors that had robbed him of his speech.

I moved closer to the two of them, my two young Kings who were hardly more than foals, and I realized the younger one was making whimpering, wordless cries. What now troubled his dreams? And had it been only my imagination before, or had he become more agitated when we asked him if the outlaws had discussed their expected destination?

I knelt and stroked his hair, quieting him. _Where are they going, young one? What could their destination be to bring such fear that you could not bear to even think on it?_

"Aslan," I whispered, encircling them both in my arms. "Bring Your healing to these little ones. Comfort them. Show _me_ how to comfort them, Great Lion, and how to uphold them in the great task You have charged them with. They are but children as, in Your sight, am I. Help us bring this outlaw to justice so he may destroy no other lives with his wanton cruelty."

I looked up at the night sky, black velvet awash with silver stars, searching for some sign, for something to guide us all.

But like the dark colt, the stars were silent.

OOOOO

_**Six days earlier . . . **_

Azar released her hair from its braid and let it fall free down her back. Then she smoothed the rich, dark-plum velvet of her skirt. She had never worn so fine a gown, never so much as touched goods so costly, but she would have this one. Zeier would let her have them all when he was through with his latest toy. After all, _she_ was his, not this other. She was his equal in boldness, the one with the wit and daring to plan his most successful raids. She was nothing like the pudding-faced little playthings he seized and then tossed away more often than he changed his shirt. Nothing like the mewling, helpless little Queen he had now.

"Little wonder they think her beauty beyond compare," she muttered as she studied her torch-lit reflection in the murky pool at the back of the cave. "Anyone can bewitch a man if she has the right clothes and jewels."

She gathered up her hair, piling it on top of her head, studying herself again before letting it fall once more down her back. No, if this so-admired Queen wore hers down, then Azar would do the same. Zeier would see this one was no better than she, no better than those others he had so quickly tired of. Then the men, perhaps some of the Beasts, would have her. Then she would not be quite so beautiful, would she?

Azar smiled at her reflection and sauntered out into the main part of the cave to where the other captive was bound. He was the pretty one, she thought, even with his mouth pulled into a cruel parody of a grin by a too-tight gag. But those eyes, those eyes that flashed dark fire when she spoke to him, she had never seen their like before. Pity he was so young. Two or three years older, and she might have had more amusement from him than just watching his reaction when she gave him her little . . . reports.

"How are you now, Little King?"

She smirked at the title she gave him. Somehow that one seemed to agitate him more than any of the vile epithets Zeier and the men used. His bloodied hands were bound above his head, high enough to force him to stand on his toes, and she noticed they were tinged blue with loss of circulation, but he still spread them wide, striving to reach her, hopeless as it was.

"Little King, Little King, have you not yet learned? The better you behave, the better you will be treated. When Zeier is ready, he will sell you both back to the High King. Perhaps not as good as new, but marketable enough."

He struggled again to reach her, those eyes again smoldering, and with a laugh, she kicked his fettered legs out from under him, leaving him dangling by his already ravaged wrists. But he did not cry out in pain. He almost never did. There was only one way she could be certain to bring a sob to his throat and tears to his eyes.

She sidled up next to him, crooning into his ear, one hand stroking his sweat-matted hair and the other toying with the bloodied shreds of his shirt. "Shall I tell you, Little King, how our Gentle Queen has spent her afternoon?"

Zeier had kept the girl to himself ever since her capture, but Azar knew him well enough. She did not have to use her imagination to describe in exquisite detail what was happening to this boy's sister and what would happen to her once Zeier tired of her.

"He will let her . . . entertain our men. Merely a little bonus for their valor in capturing such rich prizes for him. And if you are especially good, Little King, you may stay up past your bedtime and see it all."

He kicked and writhed against his bonds, and she smiled to see the frustrated tears spill down his cheeks.

"Shh, shh, shh," she soothed. "Do not be impatient, Little King. It will come soon enough. I am certain you will be eager to see your beloved sister again, such as she is, and then–"

"Azar!"

She tossed her head, smirking defiantly at Zeier as he stalked towards her, nestling closer to the boy's side, saying nothing.

"Get away from there."

She gave him only a disdainful sniff. "Why? Just because you have something to entertain you doesn't mean I am not bored."

He took her arm in an iron grip and marched her to one of the cave's side chambers, the place that served as her sleeping quarters when he was otherwise occupied. He threw her inside and stood glaring at her, his massive frame filling the opening in the rock, anger making his dark face darker still.

"I grow weary of you, Azar. Do not make me tell you again to let the boy alone."

She shrugged. "I was merely amusing myself."

"Well, that must be the last of it. His brother will ransom him, and he will soon be gone."

She eyed him warily. "What about his sister?"

He grabbed her by both wrists and shoved her against the rock wall, laughing though his eyes were cold and obsidian hard. "Jealous, my little viper?"

"Of that dainty little mouse?" She snorted and twisted out of his hold. "Hardly. I am ready to move on. Ransom them both, Zeier, and have done. The High King will no doubt be looking for them by now."

"We will be moving out soon enough. To the stronghold I have prepared for us."

"Why?" she demanded. "Why take them there? Ransom them now and have done."

"When I choose, girl. I am master here, not you."

"Arrogant fool!" she hissed. "The High King–"

He struck her a ringing blow across the face, knocking her against the rock wall. "The curse of Tash upon the High King and all his followers. I will keep what is mine until I no longer want it. Neither King nor harlot shall tell me otherwise."

At once, her dagger was out, a wicked Calormene blade that glinted in the torchlight.

"I told you I would kill you if you struck me ever again."

Laughing once more, he wrenched her arm behind her back and shoved her against the rough stone of the wall, pinning her there.

"So you have said, my little viper, time and again. And yet you always come back for more." His mouth was close to hers now, his voice no more than a low growl. "Always."

He twisted her arm higher up her back, making her cry out as he kissed her, rough and demanding, and then shoved her away with a laugh.

"Your killing will have to wait, little viper. Some other day."

He strode out of the chamber, leaving her panting and slumped against the wall. But after a moment she pushed herself upright, fingering that glittering blade.

"Your beautiful Queen will not be so fair once I have attended to her."

And the thought of what she was about to do brought a smile to her stinging lips.

**Author's Note: So now we see a bit of what happened while Edmund was held captive. What do you think?**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. Oreius also does not belong to me. I do, however, wish I could play in Narnia.**

Chapter Eleven

"General Oreius! General Oreius! A messenger! A messenger coming from the Cair!"

I looked up from where I still knelt. There was only the blush of dawn in the east, and the colts were still nestled against me, the elder curled up with his head resting on my bent forelegs, the younger between him and me, one hand clinging to each of us in sleep. I eased one arm from around them, and the High King woke with a startled gasp.

I put one finger to my lips, glancing at Edmund, and with a nod, Peter carefully loosened the slender fingers twisted into his tunic and sat up. The Robin who had come to tell us of the messenger hopped and bobbed, his eyes bright and eager.

"Who is it, Ruddock?" I whispered, not daring to stand and risk disturbing the younger colt's hard-won sleep. "Can you tell?"

"A Horse, General. He is yet a way off, and I could not see who it is."

Peter glanced at his still-sleeping brother, eyes suddenly warm. "Phillip. It must be."

And so it was. The chestnut Horse hurried into the camp, making a slight bow to the High King and then to me. Then he bent down, gently nuzzling his boy, careful not to wake him.

"Is he all right?" Phillip asked, his dark eyes large and anxious. "Queen Lucy came to find me when he disappeared, thinking I had taken him to you." He snorted. "I would have told him to go back to his bed."

"I'm sure that's why he walked here," Peter said, a smile touching his lips. "We did send word back to Lucy. So she wouldn't worry and all. I hated leaving her in the first place. Was she very upset?"

The Horse tossed his head towards the pouch on his saddle. "You can read for yourself."

Peter got carefully to his feet and started rummaging through the pouch. Lucy's note was on top, and I read it over his shoulder.

_Dear Peter,_

_I'm so sorry, but Edmund ran away. I know he's coming to find you. I only fell asleep for a minute, and I thought he was sleeping, too. But then he was gone. You should have made him promise, too! Or at least see if you can get him to eat. I packed some of that beef pie he likes and some pears and all of the apple cake and some extra clothes and things. He never thinks about that. Please take care of him and of yourself. I need you both to come home. Aslan be with you._

_Love, _

_Lucy_

_P. S. You eat, too!_

_P. P. S. You ought to order Oreius to give Edmund a good spanking._

Peter glanced at me and tucked the note inside his shirt. Then he took some of the food out of the pouch.

"I hope he'll at least try some of this. Either way, we need to get moving pretty soon, Oreius."

The rest of the camp was awake now, quiet in the early light, and I nodded. "Within the hour, Majesty."

Edmund stirred a little, and Phillip leaned down to him, nudging him with his whiskered muzzle. "My King? Edmund?"

Edmund jerked awake, again that flash of terror in his eyes. Then, with a soundless cry, he leapt to his feet and threw his arms around the Horse's neck.

_Phillip. Phillip. _

The Horse nuzzled him fondly. "You ought to be kicked for leaving all by yourself."

Edmund only smirked and pressed his face into Phillip's mane. Then Peter put a gentle hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Lucy sent us apple cake, Ed. Do you– Do you think you might be able to eat some?"

The younger colt looked at the rich cake bursting with large chunks of apple. I thought for a moment he might once again be sick, but he took the piece Peter offered him. Then he ducked his head and took a tentative bite. When none of it came back up, he smiled faintly and ate some more.

Peter patted his back. "Good. You'll need your strength when we catch up to Zeier."

There was a sudden grim hardness in the High King's face, one that was mirrored in his brother's, and the younger King nodded.

"You also need your strength, High King," I said. "The Queen Lucy was quite specific about both of you eating."

"All right," Peter said, and he took some cake for himself.

It was a start.

Before the sun was fully up, we were again on our way, the Kings riding side by side with Peter's tigers flanking them and his Gryphon scouting from the air. West and north the trail ran, always west and north. The outlaws had gone somewhere specific. I wished again that the dark colt was able to tell us where.

I was about to suggest we make camp again when the shadows stretched long across our path, but before I could speak, the Gryphon soared into sight, screeching to the High King.

"Majesty! We've found them at last! We've found them!"

I called a halt, and the Gryphon landed beside Peter's unicorn.

"Tell us, Sher," he urged. "Where?"

Edmund's fingers tightened on Phillip's reins, his knuckles whitening as he waited for the Beast to speak.

"Just north of Beaversdam, My King," the Gryphon said. "In the ruins of the castle of the White Witch."

**Author's Note: The opening of this chapter is for Pennywise, though I rather like it, too.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. Oreius also does not belong to me. I do, however, wish I could play in Narnia.**

Chapter Twelve

The twilight had faded into dusk and then into true night, but still we rode on. Half a dozen of our Faun archers lit the way with torches, but they were little more than spots of red-orange in the thickening darkness. I could no longer see the eyes of my men, but I could feel them on me in an unspoken question. _When will we make camp for the night?_

We pressed on.

I had no wish to call a halt, not with our noses tingling with the scent of our quarry. The High King rode at my side, leaning forward on his unicorn's back, his eyes fixed upon the lights ahead, blue-black in the darkness and reflecting the dance of the flames, his face flint. We were of one mind. We would waste no time in dragging this devil from his lair and his woman with him. From what we had been told, she was like him in evil. Let her face a like doom.

A soft whicker and a nudge at my side drew me from my thoughts.

"General?"

"What is it, Phillip?"

The Horse tossed his head, indicating the young King who sat drooping in his saddle. It was only due to Phillip's care that he hadn't fallen out of it.

"It is high time we stopped for the night," Phillip said softly. "None of us will be any use without rest and food."

The High King pulled up beside his brother, his expression equal parts impatience and pity. The pity won out.

"Have the men set up camp at the next likely place, Oreius," he said, and then he put one gentle hand on his brother's shoulder. "Ed?"

Edmund jerked awake, blinking and startled.

"We need to make camp now, Edmund."

"There is a place just over the next rise," I told them. "It is not much, but there is water and a brake of trees to give us some shelter."

Peter nodded. "Good. Come on, Ed. Just a little way more."

Edmund frowned, looking from his brother to me and back again, and then he shook his head.

"You were already asleep, Ed," Peter told him. "Don't be stupid. We'll get a fresh start in the morning. We ought to be there by tomorrow afternoon."

Edmund looked towards the northwest, towards where the remains of Jadis' castle lay, and his eyes glazed with fear. But then he swallowed hard and shook his head again.

"Ed," Peter began, but Edmund merely nudged Phillip's sides, urging him ahead.

The Horse said nothing. He merely walked forward, and we followed beside him.

"Edmund, don't be an idiot," Peter scolded. "This won't do anyone any good. Edmund!"

Edmund only pressed his lips together, that familiar stubborn scowl on his face, and hurried Phillip on. But when they reached the place where the men were setting up camp, the Horse came to a decided stop. Edmund kicked his sides and tugged his reins, but Phillip only snorted and shook his head.

Peter grinned as he pulled up beside them. "See? You're not going anywhere tonight. Come on now. Get down and let's eat and get to bed."

Edmund crossed his arms over his chest with a huff and did not move.

Peter got off his unicorn and stood beside him. "Edmund, you're being a baby. Now get down."

Phillip looked back at his boy with a wary eye, clearly not going to move either, and Edmund's frown deepened.

Peter reached a hand up to him. "Come on, Ed. We're all tired and hungry."

Edmund merely looked down at him and gave him a disdainful shake of his head.

"Edmund–"

My own patience at an end, I merely lifted the dark colt off Phillip's back and dumped him, squirming and struggling, onto the blankets the men had spread out under a large pine for him and his brother.

"Thank you, Oreius," Peter said, smirking at Edmund as he sat beside him.

Once more, Edmund crossed his arms over his chest and huffed. Phillip gave him a look of stern reproof as one of the Fauns removed his saddle and bridle, and then the Horse wandered off to graze. I saw that the colts were eating, too. It was only some bread and jerky from one of the saddlebags, but they were eating. It would be good for them both.

I took some food myself and then walked the perimeter of the camp, making sure it was secure before I returned to the fireside. It was banked low since the night was warm, and I could only just make out the face of the older colt. He was looking up at me.

"High King?"

He put one finger to his lips and I saw his brother was asleep there against the tree trunk. One hand, still clutching his bread, had fallen into his lap. The other had slipped to the ground along with the jerky he had barely tasted.

I bent down to the High King, lowering my voice. "You wished something, Majesty?"

"Do you think–" He glanced at Edmund and then looked again at me, eyes full of worry. "Do you think he will be all right? Going back. I mean, going back . . . there."

"To Jadis' castle?"

I looked at the younger colt again, remembering the first time I had seen him. He'd been tied to a tree, not just leaning against it, white with terror under the bruises and dirt, dark eyes pools of guilt and pleading and resignation. I had been angry with Aslan that night. Though I had not admitted it then even to myself, I had been angry with Him for sending me and my men into battle with the Witch and her creatures just for the sake of a traitor. A miserable little traitor who had betrayed his own brother and sisters for sweets.

_Why should the Great Lion bother with such a wretched creature? _I had wondered as I cut his bonds and lifted him into my arms._ Why should He seek out and save such a one? Why should He love–_

Then the foal had curled up against me, small and shaking, and I realized how very young he was and how ill prepared to face the wiles of the White Witch.

I looked at him now. He again had that look. Fear. Exhaustion. Deep remorse. But there was something else in that pale face now. Something that had not been there that first night.

"He is determined to bring Zeier to justice, High King, even if it means following him to the place he has feared ever since the four of you came into Narnia. Would you stand back and let someone else capture the renegade who took from us our Gentle Queen? I know you would not, no more than I would. Why should he feel any differently?"

Peter studied his brother's face and then looked up at me. "Why do you think Zeier has chosen that place, Oreius? Out of all Narnia, why there?"

I shook my head. "I am not certain, My King, but we will find out soon enough. From what our scouts have seen, he has far too few men to withstand us long, even in his borrowed fortress. Our battle should be quickly begun and quickly over. Then perhaps we shall have justice. Then perhaps, Aslan with us, we shall all have peace."

Peter nodded, his eyes once again on his sleeping brother. "Amen."

**Author's Note: Okay, I was determined to get this posted tonight. I'll blame any stupidness on sleep deprivation.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. Oreius also does not belong to me. I do, however, wish I could play in Narnia.**

Chapter Thirteen

We came into view of the Witch's castle late the next afternoon. The walls of ice had melted long ago, but the grim rock that had upheld them was still in place. The spired towers still thrust dagger-like into the sky. The barred gates still stood tall and forbidding, a predator's dark maw greedy for prey.

There was a breech in the outer wall, one I knew had been made by a good Giant's boot at Aslan's command. But even now a dozen or so rag-tag Dwarfs were busy clearing out the broken stones and mortar, readying it after years of neglect for repair.

"Is that what it looks like, Oreius?" the High King asked as he pulled his unicorn up beside me, careful to stay in the cover of the trees.

I nodded. "Zeier means to stay here. And clearly he thinks himself strong enough to stand against whatever forces we might bring."

"That's what bothers me. He didn't have that many men to start with, and we killed several of those. Can he sit there, even behind those walls, and think we won't be able to take him? After what he's done? What he did to Susan and–" Peter glanced at his brother coming up at his other side and lowered his voice. "How can he think we'll let what he's done go unpunished?"

"We need more information," I said. "I've already sent a few of our Sparrows to scout the castle from the air. Some of the great Cats are creeping around to the far side of the place to see what they can see. I hope to hear something from them soon. Meanwhile, we ought to pull back a bit and make camp."

Peter nodded reluctantly, but Edmund tugged at his sleeve and then nodded towards the castle.

"Not yet, Ed. Not till we know what's in there."

Edmund looked at me with that same dark urgency, but I only shook my head. "Soon enough, My King. Soon enough."

He made no further protest. He only looked out towards the castle, his face empty of emotion, but his eyes–

I could only imagine what sparked that mix of guilt and dread, of determination and cold fear. He had never spoken to me of what he had suffered in the Witch's dungeon, and he could not tell us now what Zeier and his woman had done to him. But it seemed clear that he would not have peace, he would not have healing, until these renegades were brought down.

Finally, he turned Phillip towards the forest and rode into the trees. The High King and I followed after them. The men were bustling around, setting up camp in a clearing, and both Kings dismounted at once. Edmund made quick work of Phillip's saddle and bridle and then walked into the woods.

"My King?" the Horse said, starting after him.

Peter was instantly at his brother's side, stopping him before he was out of sight. "Ed, you can't–"

Edmund only exhaled heavily and then motioned scooping water to his mouth and then washing his face and hands.

Peter glanced at me and then nodded. "Hurry. Our scouts ought to be back with some news any time now."

Edmund nodded in return and disappeared. I watched after him, scanning the trees.

"I will send a guard, My King."

Peter shook his head. "He's just gone to the stream. I need to wash, too. I'll give him a minute and then I'll check on him myself."

I frowned. "As you say, Majesty."

Peter did go to the stream a few minutes later. A moment after that he was back, jaw clenched, lips trembling with fury as he pulled his sword from its sheath.

"Get a couple of men and come with me, Oreius. He's gone."

I motioned a Leopard and a Satyr to my side and went to him. "King Edmund?"

Peter gave me a curt nod and stalked back into the woods. "Hurry."

We had gone no more than a hundred yards when he froze and held up one hand. My soldiers and I halted. Then all four of us moved into the shadows under the trees, silent and swift. I heard it now, the rustling of undergrowth, the harsh breathing of someone who was struggling to get free, and then a yelp of pain.

I glanced at Peter, puzzled. That was no human yelp.

Before I could signal my men to move forward, there was a crash and another yelp. Then a Wolf slunk, whimpering, out of the brush. Edmund was behind him, keeping a firm hold on the rope that was around the Beast's neck and prodding him with the point of his sword. Both of them were scraped and dirty and panting with effort.

"Ed!"

The High King went to his brother, equal parts relief and exasperation in his expression. My own expression was no doubt the same.

"I swear, Ed, I _am_ going to have Oreius spank you." Peter turned the sullen Wolf over to the Satyr and then shook his brother by the shoulders. "What were you thinking leaving camp alone and without telling anyone?"

Edmund pointed to the prisoner and then to the castle and then tapped himself on the temple. Peter looked at him and then at me puzzled.

"We do need more information about Zeier, Majesty," I said. "Perhaps the Wolf can supply that for us."

The Satyr tightened his hold on the rope, tightening it around the Beast's neck, and the Wolf began to whine.

"What were you doing trying to spy on our camp?" I demanded. "Did Zeier send you to kill the King Edmund? Speak."

The Wolf only dropped his head, his tail between his legs. "No. I didn't come to your camp at all. I was only on my usual patrol, and that two-legged mongrel grabbed me and collared me."

The Satyr tightened the rope once more, and the Wolf yelped.

I narrowed my eyes. "Mind your tongue, Cur, when speaking of your King."

"He wouldn't even say what he wanted," the Beast whined. "How was I to know?"

"You know now," the High King said, looming over him, the point of his blade suddenly at the Wolf's throat. "We are also your King, Wolf. The High King of Narnia. Now tell us what you are doing here? You serve that vile Zeier and his woman. Tell us why they have come to this place? Why did they do anything more than slink into the shadows after daring such foul crimes against our royal brother and sister?"

The Wolf only slunk down on his belly, whimpering again. I could see now that he was little more than a pup and probably should not have been sent on patrol alone.

"I– I don't know. I came because my pack came. King Zeier said we would all be well cared for."

Both Kings' eyes flashed. Both of them looked at me, and then Peter pressed his blade under the Wolf's chin. "_King_ Zeier?"

"Y-yes, Your Majesty. He and the female are to be King and Queen of the Western Wood."

King Edmund's dark eyes blazed, and his fist clenched.

Peter glared at the Wolf and then shoved him away with a bark of a laugh. "King, is he? Of our brother's wood? Before Aslan, does he think we shall have nothing to say in this?"

"I don't know, Your Majesty. I'm just–"

"Get the men, Oreius," Peter said. "Such effrontery cannot go unanswered."

The sun was still high and hot when we moved out, every man armed for battle. The Kings were bright gold and dark silver, proud and straight on their mounts as they rode to the castle gates to meet this upstart who dared call himself King.

The High King held up one hand and the army halted. Then, at his signal, one of the Fauns sounded one clear note on his horn. A moment later, an Ogre peered out from the top of the wall, blinking oafishly.

"What do you want?"

"Open the gates," I told him, my voice ringing in the stillness. "In the name of High King Peter and of King Edmund, Lord of this Western Wood, open and lay down your arms."

The Ogre looked at me and then at the Kings and then at the soldiers fanned out behind us. Then he scratched his head. "I don't think King Zeier is going to want us to do that, but I'll ask."

He lumbered away, leaving me and the Kings to merely look at each other in befuddlement. Then someone appeared on the balcony above the gate, a tall man, broad and well muscled, dark skinned and black eyed. He wore a fine velvet cloak, midnight blue and trimmed with an embroidered band, and I realized it had been one of King Edmund's, stolen from him when their party had first been attacked. He was even wearing Edmund's seal ring and pendant. This had to be Zeier at last.

He looked down on us with kingly hauteur and even a condescending smile. "Greetings, My Brother Kings. You are welcome to our kingdom. No need for show of force."

My blood boiled at such insolence. "Come down, renegade! You and your jade with you! Come down and have justice done upon you!"

Zeier only sneered. "Keep still, Centaur, and let your betters speak." He looked Edmund up and down, his smile returning. "I had not expected to see you again, Little King, but perhaps it is only right. I am pleased for you to give us this wood yourself. You may, if you wish, call it a wedding gift for me and my Queen. We will have the ceremony this evening, and of course you and the High King are most welcome to attend. My Queen would no doubt enjoy having you visit once more."

I could hear the dark colt's breath coming in sharp, barely audible little gasps and see the glimmer of sweat on his upper lip, but he held his head up, hand on the hilt of his sword, and did not flinch away.

His eyes blue ice, Peter urged his unicorn a step closer to the castle, putting himself between it and his brother. "You will come down or, before Aslan, we will bring you down. You and this false Queen you claim. Come down, both of you."

"Perhaps, High King, you would like to speak to her yourself." He turned back towards the doorway and stretched out one hand. "Come, My Queen. You are called for."

The woman stepped from the dark doorway and into the sunlight, and I felt my heart lurch. Beside me, Edmund's eyes widened and Peter gasped.

"Susan."

**Author's Note: Yes, Rayven49, you were right all along. Have a cookie.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. Oreius also does not belong to me. I do, however, wish I could play in Narnia.**

Chapter Fourteen

**Nine days earlier . . . **

"Help us. Please, help us. Please, Aslan, just let Peter come for us. I can't bear–"

Susan froze when the makeshift curtain over the cave where she was being kept was swept aside. Then, forcing away the dread and revulsion she felt, she put on a coy smile and turned.

"My King."

Zeier lifted her out of her curtsy and pressed a sloppy kiss to the back of her hand.

"My Queen."

He pulled her roughly against him, that too familiar gleam in his eyes, and she touched two fingers to his lips, shuddering inwardly to feel his hot breath on her flesh. _Gentle_, Aslan had told her that first day she was brought here, when she had begged Him for help, when she was ready to trade her life for her honor. _Gentle_, He had whispered, and she knew she had surprised this conscienceless brute by treating him with courtesy, by feigning admiration and even desire.

"Patience, My King," she told him now and not for the first time. "Until matters are settled with the High King and I am yours lawfully. When your Queen gives your kingdom an heir, you would not want anyone questioning the legitimacy of his birth."

He seized her hand, crushing it until she thought she would have to cry out. Then he released her and traced one calloused thumb along the line of her jaw.

"Fair and wise, I see." He traced that thumb along the side of her neck and then his hand was suddenly at her throat, squeezing just the slightest bit. "Wise enough, I hope, to know it would be fatal, to you and to your brother, if you even consider deceiving me."

She slid his hand up until she could press her lips to his palm, holding it there, holding him there with smoldering eyes. Then she released his hand, again letting that coy smile play over her lips.

"I have told you before, My King. I am weary of forever being sheltered and watched over as though I were made of cut glass. My brothers think I am no more than a little wax doll without a thought in its head. They hardly let me out of their sight. I am called Queen, but I have no power to do anything but sit at my sewing and ornament their great occasions of state. I would be a true Queen, and I would have a true King. A man.." She touched her fingers again to his lips. "My brothers are only boys. They think I should be forever a child." Again she smiled. "I am a woman."

"Yes," he breathed, siding his hands from her shoulders to her arms. "Yes, you are."

"But when they see I have chosen a King for myself, a man strong enough to rule the West of Narnia, when they give us this land as our own and they themselves bow before you, who could deny your right?" She smiled a little more boldly. "Who could deny you anything?"

He nodded, his teeth white and wolfish in his dark face as his hold on her tightened. "And then the Jewel of Narnia shall be forever mine."

She caressed his cheek with the back of her fingers. "Soon, My King. Soon. Perhaps we should speak to my younger brother about it now?"

She watched his eyes. She had made casual mention of talking to Edmund before now, but she had not been allowed to see him since they were taken five days ago. As always, Zeier merely sneered.

"Do not worry, My Queen. He is being shown the best of Calormene hospitality. And, when your elder brother comes, we will show him the like."

Susan kept the smile fixed on her face. She had walked a knife edge these past five days, convincing Zeier that she cared nothing for her brothers or for her sheltered life at Cair Paravel. She could not let him see her longing for them now. _Oh, Edmund, what are they doing to you? Peter, where are you?_

She shrugged carelessly. "They both weary me. Tell my younger brother what we wish to have and then send him back to Cair Paravel. He will serve well enough as messenger boy to the High King."

"In good time, My Queen. When we have reached our castle and made it fit for royalty." He cupped her cheek in one hand, eyes again aflame. "Fit for my bride."

He leaned forward, pulling her tightly against him, and she discretely turned her face away.

"Not yet, My King. But soon." Once more, she smiled that coy little smile. "Very soon."

He held her there for a moment more and then, with a shudder, released her. Then he laughed.

"Soon, My Queen."

With a curt, ungainly bow, he left her, and she sank down onto the pile of blankets that was her bed, her head in her hands. _Oh, Aslan, please. Please–_

"His bride!"

Susan looked up and then drew back, staring at the woman who stood in the cave opening. Azar. She was still wearing Susan's dress and some of her jewelry. She was still wearing that dangerous, glittering smile that Susan had never seen her without.

"Bride," Azar repeated, circling Susan now, her wicked curved blade drawn. "Bride and Queen. After all the time I've been with him, after all I've done for him, he would never give me either title. I have a Queen's fine clothes. I have a Queen's rich jewels." She displayed her hand, taunting her captive with the delicate wreath of daffodils and mountain ash leaves that encircled her finger. "Even this to mark me as a Queen. But I see now that you've bewitched him with your false tongue. I know a remedy for that, but do not worry. Our men are not so particular. You will please them well enough with or without one."

She laughed softly, still circling. Then she seized Susan by the throat, pressing the razor-edged blade flat to her cheek. Susan's heart pounded wildly, beating like the wings of a frantic bird suddenly snared, not daring to struggle, not daring to breathe.

"Aslan," she whimpered, and the fingers on her throat tightened.

"Your demon Lion can do nothing to save you now. You are in my power, not His, and I have not the tiniest shred of mercy."

"Aslan," Susan repeated, forcing herself not to flinch.

Azar squeezed harder. "Silence or you will not live long enough to be thrown to the men."

Susan shut her eyes, knowing she would very likely never open them again, and then she set her jaw. She knew who held her in His paws.

"Aslan!" she shrieked at the top of her lungs.

She heard Azar's curse and braced herself for the final blow. Instead she heard another curse, a deep-voiced Calormene curse, and Azar was dragged away from her, shrieking as Zeier struck her again and again across the face.

Susan shrank into the corner as the woman lunged at him, cursing in return.

"I will kill you, Zeier! I will cut your throat and dance barefoot in your warm blood!"

He grabbed her by the hair with his right hand and by the wrist with his left. There was a sickening snap as he wrenched the blade from her grasp and threw her to the ground.

"Pig!" she howled.

He slashed her once across the face and then twice more and then dragged her from the room by her long dark hair. Her screams rang through the cave until they were drowned out by the cheers and catcalls of the men.

Susan pressed her hands against her ears, trying to blot out the horrible, bestial sounds coming from beyond the curtain, but then they changed. This was not bloodsport but battle.

She leapt to her feet, but before she could do more than wonder what to do, the curtain was again shoved aside and Zeier rushed in followed by several of his men, bloodied and sweating in the torchlight. Saying nothing, Zeier merely grabbed her arm and hurried her into a tunnel that was barely tall enough for them to stand in. It twisted and turned, dank and close, seeming to narrow more and more as they moved on. _Oh, Aslan, where are we going?_

She did not know how long they had scurried along before Zeier called a halt. He shoved her against the wall and then stood in front of her, his broad back blocking her sight and her escape.

"Light it," he growled.

A moment later there was a burning hiss and then an explosion. The tunnel behind them fell in on itself. There was no going back.

OOOOO

Susan paced in the wide, vaulted chamber, empty but for the pile of blankets in one corner. A bedchamber, perhaps once the White Witch's own. _Our bedchamber_, Zeier said.

It had been nine days since they left the cave. He would not wait any longer. His men were securing the castle, already repairing the breech in the wall and filling the storerooms with plunder. Other troops, men and Beasts, all of them Fell, were coming to follow him, drawn by his promise of bounty and pleasure. No matter how she coaxed and cooed and promised with her eyes that his waiting would be well rewarded, he said he would have her as Queen and consort tonight.

"And my brother?"

She still had not seen Edmund, and she had not dared ask about him before._ Oh, Aslan, let him be safe now with Peter._

Zeier had only laughed. "Do not worry. I made certain he was released before we left the cave." Then he had given her a sly smile. "To send the High King a message."

There was something nasty in the way he said it, something cruel and pleased, but before he said anything more, one of his men came to the doorway.

"Pardon me, My King, but the sentry says you are summoned to the gate."

"Summoned?" Zeier sneered. "And who dares summon the King of the Western Wood?"

Susan trembled, forcing her expression to stay placid, not allowing the sudden surge of hope to show in her eyes.

"It is the High King Peter, Sire. He would speak to you."

"Ah." Zeier smiled serenely. "Now, My Queen, it is time. Time for you to show your worth and demand from the High King what is ours by right."

He smoothed his hair, settled Edmund's stolen cloak around his shoulders, and walked out onto the balcony that overlooked the eastern gate. Susan crept to the doorway, keeping herself in the shadows until she could decide what best to do.

Zeier was exchanging pleasantries with her brothers as if they were on the best of terms. Brother Kings indeed. She dared not look out, but she could hear Peter's voice, oh, dear Peter, he had come for her at last. And, from what Zeier had said, Edmund was with him. Why had he not yet spoken? Oh, it didn't matter. They were here. They had come for her. Even now Peter's voice came to her, calm and clear, the voice of the High King. Aslan's High King.

"You will come down or, before Aslan, we will bring you down. You and this false Queen you claim. Come down, both of you."

"Perhaps, High King, you would like to speak to her yourself." Zeier turned back into the room and reached out his hand for her. "Come, My Queen. You are called for."

She took his hand and stepped onto the balcony, out of the shadows at last, and saw Narnia's army spread out before her, the gallant Centaur General at their head, and her brothers, her Kings, gleaming gold and silver there in the sunlight, eyes burning with righteous fury. Then Oreius went pale. Edmund's eyes widened and Peter gasped.

"Susan."

**Author's Note: Soooooooooooooooooooo . . . here we are at last. And what do you think happens next?**

**Another Author's Note: In a review, Ann said, "And do you have any recommendations for other good Oreius stories? Where he's the narrator instead of just background?"**

**Right now LadyAlambiel is writing a very intense tale that has Oreius as the main character. It's called **_**A Light in the Darkness: Rekindled**_**. You might enjoy that story and her other **_**Light in the Darkness **_**stories. Oreius is a major player in all of them, and they're highly entertaining.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. Oreius also does not belong to me. I do, however, wish I could play in Narnia.**

**For those of you who like long chapters, here's one.**

Chapter Fifteen

"Susan!" Peter cried out again.

"Brothers," she said, a cool smile on her full lips as she took Zeier's arm. "How good of you to come. And you, good General Orieus."

"Queen Susan," I said, my voice sounding thin to my own ears.

Still she smiled. "But, as my King says, there is no need for a show of force."

The shock on her brothers' faces was no doubt mirrored on my own. She was alive. The Gentle Queen was alive. And yet she was this renegade's willing consort?

Edmund only stared up at her, lips trembling as he fought to speak. To comprehend. His breath came so quickly, I thought he might lose consciousness.

Peter shook his head in bewildered disbelief. "Su. We thought– What are you doing?"

"What do you think, my brother? One quarter of this kingdom is my own. My King wishes to have this quarter, and I wish you to give it to him. A dowery, if you like."

"Susan–"

"But, no, I will come down to the gate and let you in. And we shall discuss it, and you shall see the true worth of my King."

Zeier grinned down on them and then turned to Susan. "No, My Queen. Gatekeeping is the task of peasants and slaves. We shall greet your brothers as befits the meeting of monarchs. In our throne room. If you will be so good as to wait, High King, I shall order the gates opened and you and all yours shall be welcomed in."

Before Peter could answer, Susan clasped her hands in a desperate plea. "No, Peter, no! They're waiting for you! Don't come in! Don't come in!"

She broke free from the Calormene and ran along the top of the wall. Cursing her by all the gods of Calormen, he chased her up into one of the turrets,.

"Let her go!" Peter shouted. "Let her go! Sher!"

The Gryphon leapt into the air just as Queen Susan's death-white face appeared at the very top. The High King pointed to the Beast with his sword, and with a faint smile of comprehension, Susan nodded. Then, glancing back, she gave a convincing and very piercing shriek and leapt.

Zeier was only a few seconds behind her, but when he reached the top of the turret, his prize was gone. He had not seen the Gryphon spirit her away.

"Two-faced harlot!" Zeier screamed looking down into the chasm at the base of the castle. "So you would wed death rather than your King? The curse of Tash upon you! Open the gates!" His howls echoed as he ran back down and out onto the wall once more. "Open the gates!"

Already the gates were swinging open. Already Zeier's men were coming out. But, with the High King in the lead and his brother at his right hand, we charged in on them, driving them back inside. Then I saw our mistake. This was not just the twenty or so men we knew Zeier had with him. We knew from the Wolf that others had joined him, but this was twenty times the men we expected and scores of the Fell besides. Dwarfs and Ogres, Trolls and Werewolves, a pair of Minotaurs and a Minoboar, Goblins, Wolves and other creatures for which I had no name poured out into the courtyard.

We fought our way to the tower where we had last seen Zeier, and Peter and Edmund leapt off their mounts.

"Go," Phillip urged the younger colt, and then he turned back into the fray, hooves and teeth cutting a swath through a half-dozen Goblins before he disappeared into the throng.

Edmund gave him no more than a worried glance before following his brother into the castle's great hall. I barely had time to notice that Zeier had set up another throne where the White Witch's had once stood before the renegade made his appearance at the foot of the stairs.

"Bring me the High King!" he cried, and a pack of Wolves, lean and vicious, leapt forward, snarling.

Peter charged into their midst, no doubt determined to get to Zeier himself, and Edmund and I were behind him. But more of the Calormene's men and creatures swarmed into the great hall, surrounding us. Our own soldiers swept in from the courtyard, driving them back, courageous against the bitter odds.

"Turn and fight, Centaur."

I spun to my left and saw an Ogre lumbering towards me, beady eyes glinting in the torchlight. I swung my blade, meaning to take off his head, but he turned just in time, his spiked club clashing with my sword, throwing it and me backwards. Edmund scurried to my side, and we both rushed towards the creature, our weapons flashing, but he ducked and swung his club again, low this time, sweeping us both off our feet like pawns off a chessboard.

I tumbled against the dark colt, pinning him against the floor and the wall, driving the air from his lungs.

"Majesty!"

I tried to move, but my forelegs would not support my weight. The right was twisted and bloodied and burned with pain. The left was merely numb. Useless.

"Edmund, get up! Get out!"

He struggled against me. I could feel his legs churning under me, but he could not free himself. I reached for my weapon, but the Ogre merely shoved it further out of my grasp with his misshapen foot, a gurgle of laughter low in his throat. Edmund gripped his sword more tightly, but that, too, was useless, and the Ogre knew it.

He leered down on us, bouncing his club against his leathery palm. I could feel Edmund's chest against my side, rising and falling with his rapid breathing, but his jaw was set and he did not look away from the Ogre's tiny, murderous eyes as the creature lumbered closer.

I turned my body, doing the best I could to put myself between my King and death, and abruptly the Ogre stopped. For a moment he looked puzzled, and then he toppled forward, landing heavily on me, sending another wave of pain through my body and forcing another groaning gasp from the colt still trapped next to me.

"Edmund!" The High King ripped his sword out of the creature's back and then tried to push him off of us. "Oreius, are you hurt? Is Edmund?"

"Behind you!"

At my shout, Peter whirled and leapt aside, and the battleaxe a Dwarf had thrown at him landed deep into the back of the already dead Ogre. With a flash of Rhindon, Peter made quick work of the Dwarf and then of the three Wolves who leapt snarling at him.

"My sword!" I cried, and he shoved the weapon across the floor, back within my reach just in time for me to dispatch another Dwarf. A third swung at me with his pikestaff, hitting me in the throat before I relieved him of his head, but there were too many now.

Peter was hacking through bodies right and left, Harpies and Goblins and Werewolves, men and Dwarfs, but they still came. Our men were falling at his side, at his back, and still the enemy came. Still Peter fought them off. As best I was able, I fought along with him, and then there was a sudden shout.

"Hold!"

It was Zeier. He stood, still in his stolen cloak, surrounded by his soldiers, stained with the blood of good men and Beasts, grinning in triumph.

"See, High King? It is no use. Surrender now and spare what is left of your men. Those who will serve me shall be allowed to live. The rest . . . "

He shrugged, and Peter's eyes narrowed.

"And my brother?"

Zeier smiled faintly. "I fear neither of you can be allowed to remain. You would be a constant rallying point for rebellion, even if you were kept in chains. But I swear upon my honor, you and your brother and your brave General there as well, you will all be given merciful deaths."

I opened my mouth to tell him my opinion of his mercy, but I could do no more than croak. That Dwarf's pikestaff had bruised my throat and taken most of my voice. I glared instead.

"And the Queen Lucy?" Peter asked. "Shall I merely leave her unprotected?"

I felt Edmund go very still beside me and I could hear his strained breathing.

Zeier considered. "She would be a fine replacement for her sister. She, too, would make me a worthy consort. You need not worry about the Valiant Queen. I will console her for your loss, and your line will yet rule here in Narnia."

"I see." Peter nodded, voice and expression mild. "So you will have not only my men and my kingdom and my sister, but my brother's life and mine?"

Zeier only shrugged. "The spoils to the victor, High King. Now what say you? You cannot win here. Will you fight on or surrender and spare the blood of your soldiers?"

Our men looked at Peter, waiting for him to speak, waiting for him to seal their fates and his own. The High King glanced back at me and then at his brother. The dark colt's eyes were fixed on him, but there was nothing of fear in them. Trapped and helpless as he was, he merely tightened his grip on his sword as I did on mine. Neither of us could speak, but there was no need. We were all three of one mind.

Peter turned back to Zeier, shoulders straight, head held high. Despite his hands being bruised and bloody, his face streaked with dirt and his hair plastered to his head with sweat, he drew himself up, golden and magnificent, blue eyes cold fire as he looked on this would-be King.

"You will take nothing more from me. No more of my family. No more of my subjects, nor my soldiers, nor my kingdom. And not–" He pointed Rhindon at Zeier's heart. "–not the place and name of King. Not here in Narnia. Not while Aslan is still her good Lord."

Once more he looked back at me and at his brother. His own eyes burning with resolve, Edmund nodded.

Peter turned to the men, sword now lifted high. "For Narnia! And for Aslan!"

Shouting as one, our soldiers sprang upon the enemy. Peter rushed at Zeier himself, surely thinking that no serpent could live long once its head was off. At first the Calormene laughed, for though the older colt was nearly his height, he was not so broad, and he was not so fresh. Zeier had allowed his men to take the brunt of the battle until now. Not so the High King. It was beginning to tell on him, but still he fought on.

I could do nothing to help him, crippled as I was. But I was determined to defend my other charge as long as I was able. I could still feel Edmund trying to wriggle free. I tried to move, but I could not manage it. In a way, I was glad. Anyone who got to him would have to go through me. I would not live to see any of my Sovereigns die.

Before long I began to feel some hope. Our men were winning. The Fell were dying or being driven back. The High King had forced Zeier into a corner of the chamber and loomed over him, slashing the sword from his hand.

"Call off your men! Call them off and we shall spare you!"

Zeier shrank away from him, shrank farther into the corner snarling like a whipped cur. Then I saw his face change. There was a telling little smirk on his lips, and I followed his line of sight to the Troll who was lumbering towards him and my King, club raised to bash in Peter's head.

I tried to call out a warning, but again my words came out only as a hoarse croak. I flailed my legs, desperate to stand, but that also was futile. I could feel Edmund thrashing against me. He saw it, too. He saw and was helpless to warn his brother.

He beat the hilt of his sword against the wall, but the sound did not carry over the din of battle. He opened his mouth in a silent scream, frustrated tears filling his eyes as the Troll drew closer. I could hear his gasps as he fought to make a sound, any sound.

"Call off _your_ men, High King," Zeier said, his smile growing into a sneer. "Call them off or–"

"PETER!"

I caught a hard breath. _Edmund!_

Peter whirled at the sound of his brother's voice and then ducked as the Troll swung his club. It whooshed over his head and, before the Troll could swing again, the High King had stabbed Rhindon clean through him. Then Peter pulled the blade free and brought it to Zeier's throat, still dripping the creature's black blood.

"Surrender, Zeier, or before Aslan, I will have your head."

All around us, the Calormene's men were dropping their weapons, raising their hands and pleading for mercy. Others preferred death to surrender. Zeier's eyes darted around the chamber in desperation, and then he lifted his chin in defiance.

"I will be King or I will be nothing. Finish it."

Peter only glared at him, panting with effort and with restraint.

Zeier glared back, eyes blazing. "Strike, man! Strike!"

And Peter did.

**Author's Note: "Strike, man! Strike!" was the last thing Sir Walter Raleigh said before he was beheaded. I just happened to like it and wanted to use it here.**

**Also, if you are the person who made a story suggestion to me a few days ago, and I told you I'd put that on my list, please PM me. I can't remember what you suggested or anything. I just remember I wanted to use that suggestion. Please contact me!**


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. Oreius also does not belong to me. I do, however, wish I could play in Narnia.**

Chapter Sixteen

"Peter!"

Edmund's voice was rough and unsteady, but I could not mistake the happiness in it. Peter bent over Zeier, took something from his headless neck and then something from his bloodstained hand and stuffed them into the pouch on his belt. Then, with a few words to one of his captains, he hurried over to us.

"Ed. Are you badly hurt, Oreius? Edmund?" The High King's face was as pale as I had ever seen it, but he managed a shaky smile. "You picked a fine time to start talking again."

Edmund nodded, eyes brimming with tears. "Peter. You're all right." He drew a shuddering breath. "Susan– She isn't–"

"Peter! Edmund!"

The three of us turned to see the Gentle Queen running towards us, pulling her skirts up as she made her way through the grim aftermath of the battle. The Gryphon, Sher, was beside her, her guard until the time the High King released him of the charge.

"Oh, Peter." Queen Susan threw herself into her elder brother's arms, and he hugged her tightly, eyes squeezed closed as he no doubt gave silent thanks.

Then Susan turned to her younger brother. "Are you hurt, Edmund?"

Edmund struggled to reach her, desperate to feel for himself that she was whole and warm. Giving me an apologetic smile, she knelt and the two of them clasped hands over me.

"Edmund?"

"Su, you're alive." He brought her hand to his lips, pressing it with kiss after kiss. "You're alive. I saw–" His voice broke and now the tears spilled onto his cheeks. "I thought I saw them– I thought they– You were dead."

"No," she soothed, stroking the sweat-matted fringe of hair from his forehead. "That must have been Zeier's woman, Azar. She was jealous and tried to kill me. Zeier slashed her face and beat her and then gave her to his men. Our soldiers must have come into the cave just then, and that's why Zeier hurried me out and into the mountain tunnels. Oh, Edmund, she was wearing my dress. She had hair like mine. She–" With tender fingers, Susan wiped the tears from his face, ignoring her own. "I didn't know you thought I was dead. All this time."

Peter was standing at her shoulder now, and she reached up to him with her free hand, pulling him down at her side.

He put his arms around her once more. "Thank Aslan it's not true. Thank Aslan."

The three of them stayed as they were for a moment more, and then the Gentle Queen turned to me, on her face that familiar seraphic smile. "Forgive us, General. How are you feeling? Edmund, don't you think you should get up now and let Oreius be looked after."

Edmund pretended to scowl. "As soon as I can figure out how to get half a ton of Centaur off my legs."

Peter looked at my mangled forelegs. "Do you think they're broken, Oreius?"

"I fear so, Majesty," I managed in a half-whisper, my throat still burning and bruised. "I cannot stand."

As the rest of the enemy was being disarmed and taken into custody, the High King called several soldiers over to us, and they managed to shift me over enough to free his brother. While one of the faun medics began to examine my legs, Peter pulled Edmund into a hug, and then looked him up and down.

"Can you walk?"

Edmund nodded. "I'm just a little sore. It's all right. Oreius makes pretty good cover in a battle."

"How is he?" Peter asked the Faun, and the medic frowned.

"Both forelegs are broken. The right in two places, and the left . . ." He shook his head. "The bones are shattered. I do not think it will heal properly even in time. I am sorry, General."

My bruised throat tightened. "Never?"

The Faun's eyes were sympathetic. "I am sorry."

Edmund put his hand on my shoulder and gave his brother a nod. "The cordial."

I opened my mouth to object, for the substance was far too precious to be wasted on me, but at once I felt a drop of liquid fire on my tongue. The fire spread throughout my body, searing my throat and my forelegs and taking my breath. And then the pain was gone.

I stood and bowed my head. "You should not have done that, Majesty," I said, my voice now clear and strong. "But I thank you. Thank you both."

"We had to, Oreius," Peter said, laying one hand on my shoulder. "We wouldn't do very well without you."

"Besides," Edmund said with that little smirk I had thought never to see again, "I certainly wasn't going to carry you home."

Susan laughed, and he went to her and took her hand once more, not wanting her away from him quite yet, not wanting her out of his sight.

She smiled at him again. "Are you truly all right, Ed? Zeier told me he had released you, but I wasn't ever sure if he was telling me the truth. I'm so glad he didn't hurt you."

Edmund and Peter exchanged glances, but then the younger colt shook his head slightly. He did not mean to have his sister burdened with what he had suffered as Zeier's prisoner and afterward.

He squeezed her hand. "It's all over now, Su. I'm just glad you're not hurt."

Peter looked her over once more, worry in his eyes. "Are you sure he didn't hurt you, Su? After all this time, I mean a rotter like Zeier–"

"No, Peter. Really, I'm fine. Aslan was with me. All the time." She touched her fingers to the pendant that still hung over her heart, tracing the ancient runes that were translated_ His and not my own_, and smiled mistily. "They took everything else I had with me, but not this. Not this."

Edmund nodded. "They took mine, Su, but I saved something for you."

I had not noticed the chain around his neck until he tugged it out of his shirt. Dangling from it was a delicate gold ring fashioned like a wreath of daffodils and mountain ash leaves, the replica of Queen Susan's royal crown. I had thought it buried with the body we had brought back to Cair Paravel.

"Ed," Peter whispered, and Susan hugged her younger brother again.

"You got it back. Oh, thank you. Thank you, Edmund."

He gave it to her, chain and all, and she quickly replaced it on her finger.

"I'm sorry they took your pendant, Edmund. Maybe we can have another made for you, though it wouldn't be the same as having the one Stormseer gave you when he gave all of us ours. You could–"

"Here, Ed."

Peter reached into the pouch at his belt and turned over the contents to his brother: a pendant that was the image of the ones Peter and Susan wore and a seal ring bearing the crest of King Edmund the Just.

Edmund only looked at him for a moment, and then he closed his hand around the pendant and the ring. "Peter."

The older colt's face turned grim. "You'll want to give them a good wash before you wear them again."

His eyes fixed on his brother's, the dark colt put them on just as they were. "I am the only one who can truly sully them, Peter."

I stood with them, watching as our men tore down the throne that had so long stood in this bleak hall. I prayed that soon the hall itself and the entire castle would share its fate. We needed to give no other would-be tyrants a place of refuge.

But we watched for only a moment. We had our own soldiers, living and dead, to tend to, as well as the enemy dead and the handful of prisoners we had taken. The Gentle Queen and those who were not otherwise occupied, ministered to those who needed care and comfort. At the command of the High King, the dead Fell were taken away and burned. Our lost ones were buried with as much honor as we could give them in this forsaken place. But even here, even in this place so stained by death, I knew we were not alone.

My Sovereigns stood close together, Queen Susan between her brothers, their arms entwined, as the last of the earth covered our slain. She was not the only one whose eyes were misted with tears. My own were nearly blinded.

We had not lost a great many of our soldiers. Not this time. But even one was too many. Even one was too great a loss when nothing was gained.

_Nothing? _a golden voice whispered to my heart. _These brave ones gave their lives that evil may not take hold in this kingdom. They stood for Me, in defense of the innocent and of what is right, and their reward is great. Do not let your heart be troubled, My General. I have seen. I know. None of these fallen have fallen from My hand. Be at peace._

"Be at peace," I murmured over the graves, and then I turned to the High King. "What are your orders, Sire?"

Peter held his sister closer and then pulled his brother to his other side. His face was pale and still, but I knew him too well to miss the grief and guilt and weariness that were on it. I would tell him. The very moment I was able, I would tell him those words the Great Lion had spoken to me. I would tell him and, Aslan willing, he would know he had done what was right.

"Sire?" I prompted when he made no reply.

He exhaled heavily and then, with a tender kiss first to his sister's dark hair and then to his brother's, he smiled almost imperceptibly.

"General Oreius, lead us home."

**Author's Note: Well, that's basically it. I have some epilogue tastiness planned, if people want me to add it, but you'll have to let me know. Otherwise, I'll leave it here. I hope you've enjoyed the story.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. Oreius also does not belong to me. I do, however, wish I could play in Narnia.**

Epilogue

"My Sovereigns," I said, and the High King slowed his unicorn beside me.

"What is it, Oreius?"

"Look there."

A small figure rode at a near gallop over the road from Cair Paravel.

"It's Lucy!" Edmund stood in his stirrups and waved his cap. "Lucy! Lu!"

His brother and older sister shouted and waved, too, and I could not suppress a smile. It was no surprise to see her there. The High King had sent a Hawk back to the Cair to give the Valiant Queen the news of their sister's return to life and of their brother's return to health. There was very little likelihood of Lucy staying put after that.

When she reached us, the younger Queen immediately threw herself into her sister's arms.

"Susan! Oh, Susan, I can't believe it. You're all right. Aslan brought you back home."

"He brought all of us home." Tearing up herself, the Gentle Queen smiled into Lucy's eyes and kissed her wet cheek. "Home safe."

The two girls clung together, and then Lucy turned to Edmund. "And you're all right?"

He grinned. "Just ask Peter. He can't get me to shut up now."

She squeezed his hand and then, laughing with pure joy, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. "Oh, Ed, I'm so glad."

He squirmed a little at the public display, but I could see he was pleased as well.

At last, the younger Queen turned to the older of her brothers, leaning over in her saddle to nestle against his chest. "I'm sorry, Peter. I know I was supposed to stay at the Cair, but once I knew–" She sobbed and he held her tighter. "I had to come. I just couldn't wait."

"It's all right, Lu," Peter murmured, kissing the golden cascade of her hair. "It's all over now and we're back together again."

She huddled there for a long moment. Then, blinking hard, she turned her bright smile on me. "Did Peter give you the order I asked him to, Oreius?"

"Order, My Queen?"

"In my note." She looked with mock reproach at the Just King. "When Edmund ran away and left me sick with worry."

Edmund had the grace to look ashamed. "I'm sorry, Lu. I had to–"

Over his bowed head, Peter gave Lucy the tiniest hint of a grin. "No. I completely forgot. I think, given the gravity of the offense, it is something I should attend to at once. General?"

I came up beside them. "You wished something, Majesty?"

Peter gave me his most serenely regal nod. "Yes, General, we did. It is our royal will, as High King of Narnia, that you take the King Edmund and, with a right good will, spank him no less than thrice and no more than five times upon his royal backside."

Edmund's eyes widened as he looked at his brother and then at me. "Peter . . . "

I had to work to keep my mouth from twitching. "You wish this done now, High King?"

The girls stifled giggles, and Edmund managed to look even more horrified. "Peter!"

Again Peter gave me that serene nod. "Yes, General, it is a royal command."

"Peter, you can't!" Edmund turned to me. "Oreius–"

I made a slight bow. "If you would dismount, King Edmund."

Edmund froze for only a second. Then he dug his heels into his Horse's sides. "Go, Phillip! Go!"

Phillip took off at a gallop, Edmund leaning low over his neck, but I was certain I could hear the Horse's whinnying laugh as his boy's brother and sisters galloped after him, laughing, too.

I kept up a slower pace behind them, still leading our soldiers, watching and smiling as my four Sovereigns raced together towards Cair Paravel. Towards home.

The Great Lion had chosen well when he gave us these four to rule. They were only foals, it was true, and they yet had much to learn, but they loved this land and each other and Him with all their hearts. And, through everything, He kept them safe in His paws.

No Narnian could ask for more.

THE END

**Author's Note: That is absolutely the end. If you'd like me to keep writing, please let me know what you thought of this story. Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate all of you.**


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